Glittering Blackness
by Silver Phantom 2
Summary: Andross won the Lylat Wars. The Oikonny Dynasty's position is secure until drug smuggler and ex-mercenary Fox McCloud is seduced by a mysterious woman, paranoid and panicked Colonel Falco Lombardi is sent on a mysterious assignment, and political prisoner Peppy Hare makes a psychic connection. Rated for drugs, language, violence, and some sexual themes.
1. Falco I

Credit where credit is due, of course: Star Fox belongs to Nintendo and original characters to me.

Enjoy!

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**THE IRON TRILOGY**

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_Book 1_

**GLITTERING BLACKNESS**

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Soldiers! Don't give yourselves to brutes — men who despise you — enslave you — who regiment your lives — tell you what to do — what to think or what to feel! Who drill you, diet you, treat you like cattle, use you as cannon fodder. Don't give yourselves to these unnatural men — machine men with machine minds and machine hearts! You are not machines! You are not cattle! You are men! You have the love of humanity in your hearts. You don't hate! Only the unloved hate — the unloved and the unnatural  
\- Charlie Chaplin, _The Great Dictator, _1940

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**Chapter 1: Falco I**

The elevator was made of glass, letting Falco and Fara look out onto Victory Plaza. There were a dozen plazas celebrating the Oikonny victory over House Phoenix all over Corneria, but this one was different. This one – instead of the obligatory statue of Andross – had a great platinum statue of "the Hero" General Pigma Dengar.

Falco wanted to scream every time he saw it. Fara reached over and grabbed his hand. He resisted the feeling of lashing out and turned back to the door. Fara pressed his uniform that morning and made sure he looked professional. This charade was going on six years and they had it almost down to a science. By now, Falco could walk around the Zonesian Market without getting stared at. He was even starting to brave the Sharpclaw areas of the city without getting death threats. Fara was able to sit in Parliament without constantly being hounded. Their image as a "down home" couple – a husband who mingled with regular soldiers, a wife who spoke with her constituents, and all without servants or androids – was so complete even Falco was starting to believe it.

"I'm sure it's nothing," Fara broke the silence of the rising elevator, "There's a new top general and she probably just wants to size you up." The elevator was bugged so she didn't dare state the obvious, _You know how to talk to them. _

To which Falco would normally respond _Fox McCloud is a traitor and a terrorist. My previous association with him was a mistake of youthful arrogance and sentimentality. I apologize profusely and pledge loyalty to the Lylatian People's Union and Emperor Andross. _

Instead he nodded once.

The elevator doors _dinged _and opened to reveal General Rose's floor. The new commander of the Cornerian Defense Force was a big mystery all around. The vast expansive waiting room did nothing to assuage that image. There were four guards immediately waiting just off the elevator: all four of them panthers like the General herself. A large desk with a young feline behind the computer systems and in the CDF white uniform was busy organizing the general's schedule and her documentation.

She looked up and smiled, "Colonel Lombardi, Madam Phoenix, General Rose has been waiting for you."

"We're not late are we?"

"Of course not. Right on time." She stood and walked over to the hallway, "If you would come with me." She led them down the hall to the other side of the building. They passed brightly lit rooms and animated screens with brilliant technicians. To their left was a glass wall looking out over the Cornerian skyline. Hundreds of cars whizzed past in orderly lines over the streets below where citizens lived blissfully aware that it was Emperor Andross that both terrorized and protected them. At least they couldn't see Victory Plaza from here.

"Madam Phoenix, General Rose would love to meet with you at a separate date, but at the moment she has business with Colonel Lombardi. If you would like, there is her personal café right here." The secretary pointed across the hall to a bright room with a large antiquated bookshelf and a set of coffee and tea machines. Fara nodded and said, "Thank you." She took Falco's hand and squeezed it, "See you in a few."

The secretary brought Falco another hundred feet and entered a numerical code into the door handle. It hissed open, revealing General Rose's enormous office backed by a glass wall that overlooked the capital city. From here they could look directly down Central Avenue to Founder's Hall where Parliament met.

General Rose was staring out towards the Parliament building sipping on a cup of coffee. It gave Falco a minute to examine the rest of the room. There were bookshelves with a thousand tomes old and new. Print was largely dead, the most active print shop producing only twenty or so books a year. General Rose's shelves, however, had at least a thousand printed works. In between her shelves were mannequins wearing different suits of armor from periods of Cornerian history. Had Falco read more, he might be able to identify them.

"Do you like my collection?" she asked, catching Falco off guard, "the armor that is."

Falco didn't even notice the secretary leave, never mind General Rose turn to him. Rose was a beautiful woman. She had midnight black hair and a pair of violet eyes. The way she carried herself was a mixture of professional grace and pure seduction. A woman from Falco's past used to walk like that too…

"It's beautiful… I just didn't pay attention in history class enough to be able to distinguish them."

She walked over to the center of her office where a small coffee table sat between luxurious arm chairs. They were out of place: an anachronous island of ancient civilization in place of modernity's holographic walls and digitized information network. She passed Falco and pointed to the first suit, "Plate metal from the late Illuminated Age. It was worn by heavy cavalry and at a successful distance, deflects early lead projectiles. Canid civilization conquered all of Corneria wearing this." The armor was clearly not a replica. It was polished to perfection except where it was dented and scarred. General Rose moved over to the second suit, "This one is _much _older. Early Diamond Age at the latest, from the other side of the world of course. Leather and bronze. The suits of warring Vulpid tribes." She smiled and turned to Falco, "I could talk about my collection for hours, but I didn't bring you here to talk about history…" she walked over to the table and sat down in one of the armchairs, "Please, sit. Something to drink?"

Falco learned long ago not to reject courtesy offers, "Any black coffee left?" he noticed the general preferred hers loaded with milk.

Rose tapped her wrist monitor, "Meera, black coffee for the colonel."

It beeped off, "My predecessors were entirely unlike me as I'm sure you can attest."

"I wouldn't know, to be honest. I was never invited to their offices." A servant, not the young uniformed secretary, entered with Falco's coffee. He sipped it patiently. Falco gave up his fear of poisons a long time ago.

"Really?" she didn't seem as surprised as she faked, "Well, Cornelius Pepper was rather minimalist in his decorations. He was a fan of 'less is more' and had only his desk and two chairs. Pigma Dengar had a bar installed along with an imported rug and a set of couches. A shame for Corneria the Aparoids came if only because the Hero was all of a sudden bestowed the honor of defending the Lylat System instead of being revealed as the whoremonger he is." She was too refined to spit in her own office, but Falco sensed that if they were outside she might, "And Oikonny had a bit of an ego disorder – as I'm sure you'll confirm. He had a desk and throne you needed to literally _climb stairs _to get to. He filled his office with Level 1 grunts and commanded they fall on their knees if he so much as _looked _at them. Cornelius Pepper being the exception, you need to go back into the history of the CDF to find as cultured a general as myself… at the risk of self-flattery."

Falco sipped his coffee. General Rose immediately noticed it was an effort to silence himself, "Feel free to speak. One of the privileges of the office is that I don't have a bugged room. How do you think Dengar got away with entertaining prostitutes up here?"

"With respect," Falco began, "I'd rather not say."

It seemed to only increase her curiosity, "Then consider it an order. Speak freely."

Still unaware of his fate, Falco did as he was told, "Again, with respect, Peppy Hare is someone you might have found common ground with. Before a battle, he would quote epic poetry in an attempt to steel our nerves. I think it only worked for..." _This is the opposite of cautious..._ "Fox." She didn't flinch, "I was too headstrong to care."

The General smiled, "Peppy Hare? Really?" she put her cup down on the table, "I had not looked into him as well as I should have, apparently. Tell me, Colonel. How much do you know about me?"

"Nothing. I was well acquainted with all three of your predecessors but was somewhat surprised to hear about your appointment over Leon Powalski."

"Leon?"

"Yeah, they seemed to be going down the roster of Star Wolf candidates, so I assumed it was Leon's turn after Pigma and Andrew were sent off to higher posts."

"I see. Well, fortunately for the CDF and Corneria in general, Captain Powalski is still on assignment in Katina. I daresay I expected another Oikonny to take Andrew's place, and was rather surprised when they pulled me from my previous assignment to take command here."

"If I may ask," Falco began, "what was your previous assignment?"

"I was in the Intelligence Division. I wore the black before they handed me red. It's even more surprising considering neither of my previous assignments were completed. Before I was handed command I was on the hunt to track down Wolf O'Donnel. I managed to track him to the Sargasso Region before my brother took over the mission. I must have been doing something right since they promoted me to this post. And again the mission to hunt down Wolf was something of a promotion after hunting down Fox McCloud."

Falco's head shot up. He managed to make himself so comfortable in front of this former intelligence officer that he'd been unable to hide his concern for a friend he hadn't seen in fifteen years, "Fox McCloud? You… you hunted him down?"

"I managed to track him to the outer system. Every four years when Solar reaches perihelion he hops from the Meteor field to Eladard or Venom hiding out until he can hop the systems again to Titania. I almost caught him once in a bar on Titania but he escaped. It was after that that I gave my analysis of Fox as no longer a threat. Evading security forces had become second nature to him, but getting into bar fights was his new favorite pastime. It was far more likely at that point that he would get knifed in Eladard than executed in Corneria."

"Yet… he's still public enemy number one?"

"Appearances, Colonel. It's all about appearances. As long as Fox remains unwelcome in Corneria, then he'll stay that way. Wolf O'Donnell, on the other hand, is a much more dangerous animal. He's operating out of the Sargasso Region, I just can't exactly determine to what purpose."

They sat there in the middle of her office for a long while admiring the historic décor before the servant came in to refill General Rose's cup. When he left she sipped her coffee one more time before beginning, "Let me cut to the chase, Falco. Unlike previous Generals, I _need _you."

Falco put down his coffee, "I'm sorry?"

"You heard me correctly. I need you." General Rose stood and walked over to the enormous window covering the back of her office, "Come here and look with me." Falco obeyed. Down the street directly across from them was the Parliament building. And at the forty-five degree angle was another street leading directly to the Redwood Palace: the office and official residence of the Oikonny Dynasty, "Do you see this, Falco? There is Parliament, there is the Emperor, and there is us. Each has a proclaimed responsibility. Parliament is to ensure proper governance and successful commerce in the Lylat System. The CDF is to defend the Lylat System from external – and internal – threats. Now tell me, what is the Oikonny Dynasty's purpose?"

He felt like she was pushing him against a wall. Was she testing him? Trying to root out insurgency before it arises? "The Oikonny Dynasty provides consistency of governance through hereditary succession."

She began to laugh, "Ah, yes. Consistency through heredity, as House Phoenix claimed before them. Yes, the only thing relatively consistent about hereditary governance is the corruption. Not even the last name is the same. No. The Oikonny regime's purpose is to serve itself." No, she couldn't possibly be testing him, "Before the Lylat Wars, the System experienced almost a century of internal peace. That's why Pepper had to rely on the first Star Fox team to get rid of Andross for the first time. Before Andross invaded, Parliament ran the show. From Macbeth to Fichina, Parliament was dedicated to resource distribution and a utopic future. When Andross upset that balance, Pepper assumed a lot of power not seen since Unification. Parliament dismissed him from power and approved Andross as the head of state. If it wasn't for the Aparoids, we might have done away with him entirely, but he saved Corneria and legitimized himself. So it is left to us to restore the balance."

Falco had to blink just to give himself the time to process all of this information, "I don't understand."

"This, right here. This is known in political theory as an _iron triangle_. Parliament, the CDF, and the Oikonny Dynasty support one another, granting an indestructible pyramid of legitimacy. I mean to _break _that pyramid."

"What you're talking about… is treason…"

"Only if I fail. Are you going to be the one to report me to the Emperor?" Falco didn't have to shake his head. They both knew the answer, "I told you, Falco. I need you. I know your history. I know your marriage is a sham. The game you play in the CDF is purely for survival. I'm giving you an opportunity to _live _again. All you have to do is accept."

She walked over to her desk and handed him a micron fiber, "If you accept, you leave tomorrow. If not, just say so and I can post you somewhere safe. Somewhere out of sight where you can at least know you're not being watched twenty-four-seven and you can drink enough beer to die painlessly in your sleep. If that's the kind of life you want."

The fiber hung there between them like a glass piece of string, holding Falco's destiny between them.

Fifteen minutes later he was riding the elevator down with Fara. They didn't speak. Outside in Victory Plaza, neither of them commented. Nor did they make a sound on the train to the Upper West Side or up the stairs to their apartment. After the door was closed, and Falco sat down on the couch, Fara finally asked if he was hungry. It was as if the entire journey to the CDF never happened. Falco didn't hear her, so she began cooking.

Falco lifted his wrist link and inserted the fiber. The subcutaneous implants vibrated to life, "Colonel Lombardi, you are needed in the Cape Claw colony on Sauria. The colony is under consistent attack by the indigenous population and needs you to broker a peace deal with the natives. Find out what secrets Sauria hides and what exactly we can do to ensure the colony's survival. When you arrive on site and meet with Colonel Grey, more instructions will follow." A thousand and one questions flooded his mind. But they were questions he knew he couldn't articulate. They assumed from day one that any place they chose to inhabit was bugged by Oikonny agents, the CDF, of both. This charade they developed after the disappearance of death of all their friends was so real Falco and Fara almost started to believe it. Still, after all these years, an intelligence officer rises to prominence in the CDF and consults Falco with an opportunity to bring the downfall of the Oikonny regime? Fifteen years of hardship, all come down to this…

Fara clinked down the plate in front of him. It was bread made of nuts and vegetables. She had her own and waited for Falco to finish before she asked if it was all right to turn on the news. The televisor and afternoon news channel displayed a dozen stories challenging as usual the objectivity and credibility of the Oikonny-funded news. Riots in Zoness from local fruit farmers upset at taxes imposed by parliament. Resignation speeches by MPs all revealed to have been engaged in illicit dealings on corruption scandals. Praise for Dash Bowman, the new governor of Venom and Andross' own grandson. They were used to cutting out the bullshit. Years of watching the media and toning out the crap was a skill anyone who worked in the system managed to develop.

Falco wasn't watching, his whole world was too busy turning upside down. Fara mercifully shut the machine off and picked up his hand, "Want to go?"

Falco nodded, "Yeah."


	2. Fox I

**Chapter 2: Fox I**

The slums of Eladard were not Fox's favorite place to be. Given the option he would go back to Sauria and warm some Cerinian's bed. Or at least Titania was warm. The pollution from Eladard's million weapons factories blotted out even the meager warmth that Solar provided, and made even the bright Lylat sun completely invisible. You would have to turn over quite a few rocks to find a sorrier being than Eladard factory workers.

"Hey Jack," Seris was one of Eladard's aristocrats. He owned a string of bars and 10-buck nightclubs around the city. Fox sold him Cerinian ukuu for fifty a bottle every round trip. It wasn't a favorite among Seris' regular clientele but there were a couple hundred Cerinian exiles that came to Seris only for ukuu, "You bring the stuff?"

"A hundred and nine bottles in the Arwing." Fox sat at the bar and wiped his hands on the napkin before wiping gin off the counter, "You want I should bring them?"

"Nah, don't burden yourself," he was a big ursine fellow, over weight from one too many imported steaks, "I'll send my boys to get the stuff. Where at? Seventy six as usual?"

"Bay 346. Some asshole took my spot carrying what looked like whales in the cargo bay."

Seris laughed his big bellow, "Whales! Heh, must be the Guinpes got paid if they can afford whale again. I'll send Schuyler down to pick up the ukuu. Same service password?"

"Haven't changed it. Just tell him to be careful with the cart. I've got enough of a trashed hull. You gonna donate the funds for it?"

Seris laughed again, "Just tell Leonelle it's on me, as usual. I'm getting a call from the woman. One of them at least." He bumped Fox's fist and picked up his comm link in the other hand.

Leonelle, a short skinny reptilian hitting too much pipe showed up shortly and bumped Fox's fist, "Hey Jack. You bring the blue juice?" Ukuu was usually clear like water but thicker like syrup. The Cerinian's used to homebrew it with scrambled bafomdad egg, but here just drank it straight since Seris' bars weren't fond of frying eggs in their alcohol special order. But the people who drank it were usually covered in rich blue fur that Fox was so familiar with.

"Yep. Schuyler is going to pick it up now. Let the boys know."

"What can I get you?"

"ECD. Make it strong."

"Eladard Cough Drop. Seris payin'?" he started mixing the drink: a potent concoction of four liquors topped with a sugary soda for some consolidation. Fox was starting to see his smuggling career as an exercise in liquor tourism. He knew every local drink outside of the Meteor belt and all of the best recipes inside. Better yet, he knew the best bartenders.

"You know it."

Leonelle put the cold glass on the bar and slid it over to Fox with a bowl of bar nuts, "Hey, Jack, you got anything for me?"

"C'mon, Leo, you know I don't eat Eladard produce," even so he reached into one of his jacket pockets for red magic.

"Nah, Jack you got it all wrong. This shit's been green house grown. Geothermal irrigation systems and all that. It's clean."

"Go back there and get me butter cookies. At least I know those were processed in a factory with old-fashioned grease and metal." Leonelle stopped protesting to quicken his fix and ran to get a plate of processed and fatty butter cookies. He came back and handed Fox the plate with three 100-credit notes underneath. Fox divided his usual stash for Leo in half and gave him a fraction, sliding across the table. No cops came to this part of town and few cared about the extra-legality of things that happened in Eladard, but things were kept on the down-low. No one was looking too closely at Eladard's business so long as it didn't interfere with weapons manufacturing. The local police mantra was "out of sight, out of mind."

"What's this, man?"

"That's what you get for three hundred."

"I'm running low on cash supply, Jack. I can get you the rest."

"Then I'll give you the whole eighth when I get the whole payment. You know me, Leo. Cash up front." Leo took what Fox gave him and checked on the other customers before excusing himself to the bathroom for a hit.

Fox sipped on his drink and breathed easy for a bit before a Cerinian man sat next to him, "Eh! Norbu, I heard the ukuu shipment came in."

"Touched down not an hour ago." Fox spoke fluent Cerinian and was all too happy to practice among honest people. Well, the Cerinians were more honest if you could speak their tongue. In Cornerian, they were as honest as everyone else, "Seris sent one of his boys to get it from the harbor." He reached into his jacket, pulled out a silver flask and passed it to Toke.

The Cerinians that left the tribes tended to assimilate into their new homes pretty well. Toke and his wife wore Lylatian jackets and pants like the rest of the native workers, but wore distinctive jewelry on the outside. Women tended to wear their distinctive head dresses while men wore a single plastic earring on their left side. Traditional gold was a rarity and only held in locked family boxes. The precious metal made immigrants a target for gangs of thieves. Toke wore a white earring the shape of an eternal knot.

He took a swig of Fox's flask. The liquid burned down his throat bringing back memories of home, "Ah! Beautiful stuff. Never as good without the egg. Bafomdad eggs are always the best. Healthiest for you too. You ever eat Baf meat, Norbu?"

"Toke," Fox started, "Every few years I come with a shipment from Sauria and every few years we go through the same spiel. I have tried every Cerinian dish you can think of, and yeah, Bafomdad piss can raise the dead."

"You don't believe it, Norbu? I've seen it!" He took another swig. About that time Leonelle came back from the bathroom, his pupils dilated and his movements slow and laborious. Too much magic at once gave the user a serious high, "Hey you got some of that for me?"

Fox reached into his pocket and pulled out a bag with six crystals the size of cherries. Toke passed him six hundred for the bag and asked, "You got full boxes on your ship?"

"Long as you got money," Fox drank the last in his glass and passed it to Leo, "Top me up."

"Heh, of course we do. It's gutukla soon. You should stay for the festivities, my family would love to host you." He rolled a red crystal into a banana leaf and put it in his mouth. Chewing the magic slowly produced a mild euphoria and a slight buzz rather than the acute and dangerous chemical imbalance produced by putting it up your nose.

"The kind of work I do, Toke. You don't want that kind of attention for a night."

"Nonsense. You are a friend of the Cerinian community. My wife makes excellent Cerinian dishes. Good as one could make on this smog-crushed rock."

Leo handed Fox a refill on his ECD and Fox drank half before turning to Toke, "I've always wanted to ask… why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you and your family stay here? Of all places. Why Eladard? It's the scummiest rock in the entire system."

Toke laughed to himself and finally said, "Why do you come here, Norbu?"

"To stay hidden."

"There you go." He stood up to leave but turned to Fox and asked, "Where are you staying tonight if not my place?"

"There's some cash-only fleabags in Drayang Park. I'll go there."

"Where can I find you tomorrow for a box of this stuff?" he pointed to his bulging cheek.

"I'll find you," was all Fox said before Toke waved and walked out the door. Fox was on his third drink by the time Seris walked back and handed him an orange envelope with a bulging brick shape in the middle, "Fifty-five large. You brought more than last time, Schuyler said."

"Yeah, my guys on the inside need all the cash they can get right now. I've got a couple of other products on the down-low they want me to get rid of, too."

"I can hook you up with some unsavory folks if you need some buyers."

"Thanks, Seris. I got my contacts though. You still got that bitchy broad with the god-given mammaries makin' killer omelets working the kitchen?"

Seris tried to stifle his laugh, "Marie."

"Yeah, yeah. Marie," Fox smiled just thinking about that chest of hers, "She still makin' omelets?"

"She works here on the weekends but now she's at Mirinda's else wise. She got a kid three years back and I just couldn't afford her full-time."

"A kid?"

"Yeah, you know. Cries a lot. Shits in the pants. Gotta feed it."

"No, no. I got it."

"She wants to save up enough to get off Eladard. You know they've been reporting instances of lung cancer as early as eight years old? Even with 97% of the planet atmospherically protected. Anyway, as far as I know she's still hangin' around Eladard until she can make enough to settle on Katina or Sauria or some other colony."

"Wow…" the news was sobering… too much for Fox at that BAC, "Hey, you mind topping me off for the road?" he held out the flask. Leo took it and asked what Fox wanted.

"Anything is fine."

"Give him the Shock Deterrent," Seris ordered. Leo reached to the top shelf and pulled down a frosted bottle. He filled Fox's flask to the top and handed it back to him. Fox closed it and put the bottle in his jacket pocket.

"Thanks." He got up to leave.

"Will we see you on Saturday?"

"Maybe. I haven't decided." He headed toward the door and put one hand on the guard, "Hey, what did she have?"

"Who?"

"Marie."

"A little girl. Cute one, too."

He turned to leave, "Thanks, Seris." He left the bar and walked through the covered, crowded Eladard streets. Above was the purple-black haze that blotted out the sky since Andross turned on his war machine. Around where shops and crowded houses selling all kinds of goods legal and otherwise. Some advertised simple things like drinks, sit-down dinners, and processed groceries. While those things were indeed sold, they tended to be code words for drugs, sex, and guns. Eladard was the most honest dishonest world around. The smog that hid the ground from orbital ocular enslavement did little to hide things from the ground view of filth, poverty, and grimy O2-N filters.

A few miles from Seris' grungier bar was a fooding and lodging. Fox had only been here once before and was pleased when the owner – a fat, balding avian – didn't recognize him, "Sign in, please." He handed Fox a virtu-pad and he pulled an ID out of his pocket.

"Cash up-front, Mr. Florent. Thirty a night. Fox put thirty credits on the country. The owner took it and stuffed it in his pocket before handing Fox a key, "5B. Any problems just holler."

Fox walked up to his room and locked the door. It was an unsavory place but it sure as hell beat sleeping on the street or Aquas prison. After scanning the room, it wasn't bad for thirty a night. A bed, a televisor, a nightstand, and a bathroom with the sink falling off the wall wasn't horrible. It certainly wasn't the worst place Fox had stayed for thirty a night. Of course, for that price, it meant his entire staff was illegal.

He dropped his jacket off on the floor and pulled the flask out of the pocket. Thanks to Seris, he had to work on getting drunk again. Fox flopped down onto the bed and opened the drawer to the nightstand. There was a copy of the Kudkhu which he glanced at for a moment before reaching for the remote control.

A few hours of pointless Canine dramas and a half bottle of ukuu mixed with vodka later and the room was starting to swirl. The knock on his door, however, was unexpected.

He let them knock. In a minute or so, they'd leave. Ten minutes later they were still knocking, "No thanks!" Fox shouted. _He _was the drug dealer. He didn't need door-to-door solicitation from some punk.

_Knock, knock, knock_.

"Hey! No, thank you!" the knocking was starting to reverberate in his head, "Do not disturb!"

_Knock. Knock. _

Fox picked himself up and poured himself into an upright position. He staggered over to the door and flung it open. Just before he was about to raise hell with whomever was ignoring his resistance, he saw a young Cerinian woman wearing a trench coat over her traditional clothes: often mistaken for a tribal bikini by uncultured Lylatians. She had huge green eyes and long hair that flowed down to the small of her back. Except for a few minor details, she looked just like _her_.

"You still want me to leave?" her accent was slight, as if she was practicing her Cornerian since grade school.

"Uh… no."

"You going to make me wait out here in the cold? I'll give you a closer look… inside."

"Oh… sure." Fox stepped aside and let her come in. He locked the door after her, "Ah, it's much warmer in here." She removed the coat and dropped it on the floor, "Can I just leave this anywhere?"

"Yeah, anywhere is fine."

She sat down on the bed and made herself comfortable, stretching out in the dim light of the televisor. She was incredibly beautiful and made Fox want to just climb on top of her and think of happier times with a different Cerinian girl, "I'm sorry, I don't normally do this."

"It's not your first time, is it?"

"Oh, uh, no it's not. I just don't normally, uh, sleep with… prostitutes."

"Neither do I!" she giggled, "You going to come over here and keep me warm, at least?"

Fox sat on the bed next to her. She leaned up and grabbed his hand which she moved to her thigh, right on top of the white sun tattoo, "You like?" he moved his hand up her thigh to her belly and her chest. She climbed on top of Fox, straddling his waist and pushing her breasts into his face.

"What's your name?" even normal questions sounded sexy coming from her voice.

Fox stumbled and said the first thing that came to his mind, "James. I'm James." His hands crept up her back to the knot that held her top up.

One of her hands shot back to hold his, "Not so fast, you call me Emerald. _Got it?_ Nothing else."

"Yeah. Emerald." She let go of his hand and he untied her top, letting it fall to the floor with their jackets. He pressed his mouth to her chest, kissing her all along her neck, her collar, her nipples, until he felt a sharp tingling on his lips and tongue. He began to feel sleepy and dizzy all at the same time. He was about to say something but remembered her name was Emerald.

It was somewhat well known that prostitutes would sometimes put a sedative on their lips that would make clients pass out. They could then rob the john blind without ever having to do the deed. Some of these street walkers didn't know how to correctly apply the substance and ended up poisoning themselves. It was much safer to apply the sedative to one's nipple and let the poor, stupid guy suck.

"E… Em…" was all Fox managed before everything went dark.


	3. Peppy I

**Chapter 3: Peppy I**

Every day for fifteen years began the same: a nutrient gruel accompanied the morning alarm bells. The gruel made Peppy throw up the first time he had it. It was a combination of sea creatures ground into mash-bones, scales, gizzards, and all-accompanied with vitamin powders. Not that the prison staff was particularly interested in feeding their inmates a proper diet, but mostly because the warden had a labor quota to reach which he couldn't on bread and desalinated water.

Years later, Peppy learned how to tell when the prison staff managed to catch a school of swordfish and when they only scraped up shrimp and crawdads from the ocean floor. He much preferred the swordfish over the shrimp which was often poorly ground and had bits of shell and eyes sticking out of the bowl.

This morning's was mussel which was always well-ground. At least they had the courtesy to de-shell them. It wasn't bad, Peppy saved his answer for _what would I rather be eating _for lunch. It was much more fun to play with other inmates.

After breakfast they were handed mining tools and brought to the tunnels where they dug deep into the Aquas seabed to some unknown purpose. Peppy had been theorizing for years but it all amounted to just a lot of notes he jotted down inside his head into three categories of narratives.

"Get up you wastes of life!" Captain Hadley called over the loudspeaker. The steel doors opened and the prisoners walked out for inspection. Guards came around and inspected the cells. There was nowhere to hide contraband and even less place to get it. The few things Peppy ever owned in the past decade and a half – a tiny notebook and stick of graphite, a comb, a pack of cigarettes – had been confiscated. For three years the only things he'd bothered to call his own was the itchy blanket and the mattress in his cell.

After inspection, the inmates were handed mining tools and herded to the mines. So began _Theory 1: _hard labor for hard labor's sake.

It was certainly not a new strategy. Cornerians used this during their history in their harsher political systems, and Andross often compared to the monsters of ancient times, at least to Peppy. And while Peppy was all too happy to resist his captors every step of the way for the first decade, he finally noticed positive changes not seen since he and James were cruising in Arwings capturing outlaws.

Swinging a hammer and carrying rocks lost Peppy his pot belly. Even more so, he built muscles he hadn't seen since college. Day after day of hard labor cured Peppy's physique and after making peace with his situation, he slept better than ever before. So if the hard labor was meant as a mere punishment, Peppy no longer felt it.

The alarm rang. Lunch time.

Peppy put down his hammer and walked over to the carts that took them back to the main complex. In the main hall they ate their gruel as guards looked down on them with loaded rifles. The last time anyone was killed in the mess hall was six years ago. They since didn't disturb Peppy's meal.

His usual crew sat together. Peppy sat with an orange reptile, Skinny P, a couple of canine ex-soldiers, and a primate former lecturer at Corneria City University. At the end of the table, a young Earth Walker prince ate with them. He was already huge and since he was an Earth Walker, his main job was carrying rocks, not breaking them.

"Shrimp, again." The Professor grumped.

"Aw, shit." Skinny P threw down his spoon, "Seriously. We had mussels for breakfast. And all that was missing was a bit of lemon."

"Lemons," one of the ex-soldiers laughed, "wouldn't that have been something?"

"You know what I was actually thinking this morning?" Peppy asked to no one in particular, "A single cup of coffee in the morning would go so far here."

"Indeed," the Professor took up the helm, "Imagine if they were to introduce a rewards system. Everyday, the crew with the highest yield is given breakfast-of-choice."

There was a unanimous murmuer of approval. Prince Torriki was the first to speak up, "Oh I know just what I'd have. Beet root and radish stew. It'd be the _best_. Just a cup of that, really, is all I'd like."

"I'm right there with you, Prince. Add in some lettuce and a few diced carrots and that sounds delicious to me." Peppy winked in his direction.

"Well I could certainly go for some real meat. One I have to bite and chew. No mash." The other canine offered. Skinny P and the Professor agreed.

"Hey, do you mind if I sit with you guys?" the newcomer was a Cornerian: a skunk with a black coat and a smattering of chaotic white stripes. He was so obviously new because he still had fear in his eyes and plastered all over his face. He also had no muscles and most likely cranked a desk back over the waves.

"Sure, first day?" Peppy asked.

"Yeah… I'm still trying to understand it all. I mean, I didn't do anything wrong. Next thing I know I'm here." The skunk tried to explain.

The Professor explained through a mouthful of shrimp: "This ain't a prison for criminal wrong-doers. This is the _Aquaien Silence_. Those black-coated guys up there," he nodded to the guards, "That's not CDF. They have their own prisons in the Meteor Field. No, this place is run by the Oikonnys. And you're in this place because you did or said something they didn't like."

"So the question is: what exactly did you say?" Skinny P asked, "I was stupid enough to spray paint _Star Fox Lives _under a bridge. Not even political man. Just anti-establishment."

"I had the nerve to imply there was nothing inherently superior in primates over Vulpids or Canines in CCU." The Professor said.

"You taught at CCU?" the skunk asked.

"I did."

"I was writing a book there."

"About what?" Peppy asked.

"Star Fox."

"Did you write that we were anti-unification terrorists advocating anarcho-primitivism?"

"No… I was trying to be academic."

"Well there's your problem," an ex-soldier explained, "Anything but lands you here."

"What did you do?"

"Told my superior I was uncomfortable with this prison set up. Apparently that was all it took."

"They call it the _Silence _for a reason." Peppy said.

The newcomer turned to him, "What did you do?"

"I'm Peppy Hare."

"Wait… you _are_?" he asked. A smile widened across his face, "Sir, it's such a pleasure."

"I don't see why. I'm a part of the reason you're in here."

"Yes, but… wow! Really, I think Star Fox is such a fascinating chapter of history. They were the first independent shock soldiers to employ land-sea-and-space strategies in their battle tactics."

"You don't have to tell me, kid. I was there."

The newcomer laughed, "Sorry… it's just so surreal being here, meeting you." He took a bite of the shrimp mash and immediately spit it back onto the plate, "Oh my god! What is that?"

They all laughed, "Shrimp," the Professor answered, "You'll get used to it pretty fast. We all do."

"Jeez laweez… how long have you all been here?"

"Five years," the Professor said.

"Three," the ex-soldiers responded.

"A year next Saturday." Skinny P gave.

"Six," answered Prince Torriki.

"Fifteen," was Peppy's answer.

Lunch finished and they were herded back into the mines. There the newcomer was handed a pickaxe and told to follow along. He broke rocks with the others, but only half the speed. Peppy felt sorry for him as he did for every new fish that found his way to the ocean floor of Aquas. He was skinny and practically useless when it came to this kind of work. He finally stopped and looked at the guard watching them with a loaded rifle, "Excuse me," he offered meekly, "Is it all right if I take a rest? I'm really struggling here."

The guard wasn't the least bit amused, "What'd you say, dirt ball?" Peppy watched out of the corner of his eye wishing he had telepathic powers to just tell him to back off. Beat a retreat. Anything but walk right into his first _Silence_ beating.

"Just five minutes is all I ask. Please."

There was a moment of silence but for the bang of hammers against rock. Then there was a dull sound of the butt of a rifle impacting a soft gut. The wind raced out of the newcomers lungs and whatever was left in his stomach after his first crawdad mash came boiling up and out of his throat. The rifle came down again and again in rhythm with the hammers.

Involuntarily, his scent gland activated and released noxious gas into the cave. There was a murmur of disgust from their section of the tunnel. The guard backed away and held his nose while his victim lay bleeding on the ground, "Ugh. Good riddance." He pulled up his comm link and called for a medical evacuation in Tunnel 9, "If he doesn't wake up tomorrow, I might have just done us all a favor. Cross your fingers."

There were no hours down in the _Silence_. You worked until you were told to stop. This made rock beating seem like an endless activity. For all they knew, it could have been midnight or noontime on the surface when the alarms signaled the end of a crushing segment of work. When it did sound, the workers loaded their tools and final cargo of stones into the cart and rode it back up to the main complex.

Once again they ate alone in their cells. Dinner was lobster barely boiled. Peppy felt like laughing every time: lobster on Corneria was still considered a delicacy. But Corneria also had butter. Here they were given a pink shelled beast that was usually undercooked. Years ago, Peppy was about to break one open when a claw snapped at his fingers. Even unbuttered, Peppy didn't mind the cheap food. It was better than bread and water they fed him when the prison first opened. But only just.

After dinner he would meditate until he began to fall asleep. As soon as his eyes closed, he rolled onto his blanket and didn't so much as sleep as he did wait for the morning alarm.

"Morning" was just a relative term. Peppy hadn't seen the sun for fifteen years. It was really just a "waking" alarm.

He noticed that tomorrow would be his anniversary. Day 5475 at the bottom of the ocean.


	4. Zamo I

**Content Notice: **Hopefully you can tell what a lot of the Cerinian words mean by context, but if not, there is an Appendix added at the end here along with context for the words chosen.

**Chapter 4: Zamo I**

He hated sitting with mother during these sessions. She sat atop the ancient throne and he at her right side. The vast majority of people who came to present offerings and ask for blessings prostrated to him first before bowing to her. For that reason, even at nine years old, Zamo wasn't allowed to look bored. Zamo once asked Wudtod Khafu why he had to sit with the Queen during the court hearings. He did not like Khafu's response: "So that you may learn. One day, ultimately, you will rule."

"But I don't learn anything! I don't understand when the people come. And I understand less when they talk."

"One day you will," Khafu said, "For now, it is important that the people see you, become familiar with your presence, and one day, they will respect you as they once did your mother."

When a Krazoan priest from the Ice Mountains complained to Mother about their hunting rights and the conflictual border with the Cornerians (or the Earthwalkers, Zamo always confused the two), he looked over at Wudtod Khafu and thought of the distant day he might rule.

"The Earthwalkers don't even inhabit the mountains. Why would they dispute the boundaries for hunting with your village?" Mother shook her head signaling that she already knew the answer, "Never mind." She turned to Hite and said, "Send a messenger to Cloudrunner Fortress and one to our ambassador in Walled City. We will meet with Grey and the Two Kings and find out what they want this time. If only _they _respected the rules of proper civilization."

Hite was a member of the Jootag tribe. They wore distinctive red and white tunics that hid a half dozen tools inside. Instead of a staff or spear, they favored a long iron blade that jutted out from the hilt and widened at the end. The weight of the sword made it ideal for headhunting: the Jootag's favorite pastime, "Yes, Boxdte," he said with a bow.

Hite stood to Mother's left, and next to him was her other primary advisor Zexd. Zexd was a Bonobist convert, and earned the ire of at least a quarter of Saurians and all of the Cerinians. When contact between Corneria and Sauria was first established the Bonobists, funded a half-dozen missions to bring their message of "Spiritual enlightenment through sexual liberty." The Bonobists, despite being late-comers were one of the most powerful factions on Sauria. Many claimed they were responsible for the downfall of the Jootag Buxduko.

"Zexd," Mother called, "Can you send a message to your mission?"

"Yes, Boxdte. What would you like me to say?"

"Tell them we may be preparing for war with the Saurians again and we would like their support. Especially regarding aircraft."

"They will most likely require opening a new temple. Most likely two or three before they begin to negotiate military hardware. Perhaps the Ice Mountains, the Aggasiz Vales, and Jootag Hollow." It was not lost on Zamo that Zexd worked for two masters: his Mother, and another distant force.

"Do not give them _any_ land without confirmation that we _will _receive arms. No empty promises from the Vale." Mother commanded.

"Yes, Boxdte." Zexd bowed and returned to his place.

The Queen stood. The rest of the court turned and prostrated towards her. Or him, Zamo wasn't entirely certain. The herald blew the conch shell as Mother held out her hand for Zamo to grasp. He took it and she pulled him gently so they descended the steps of the Throne together and down past robes of every color from fire to water, as Hite followed behind with a hand on his sword.

"All present take refuge in Her Graciousness, Rha Normo Boxdte, Queen Krystal of Cerinia, the Mother of our Present Lord, Rha Zamo Tehzo, twenty-third Xikibki Hadfsxo."

Once the main doors to the Throne room had closed, Mother turned to Zamo and said, "You did well today," even though he didn't do anything. She knelt next to him and said, "I know you don't fully understand yet, but it's important that the people see you. You are the incarnation of our country and their hope. Soon you will come into your own."

Zamo learned to just stand and listen when Mother tried encouraging him. Wudtod Khafu arrived with Hite. Khafu took Zamo's hand and said, "Come, young prince, it's time for your lessons."

Mother kissed him on the forehead and pat his ear, "Do well."

Zamo nodded. She turned and left with Hite to other parts of the Palace. Wudtod Khafu began to lead Zamo across the bridge over the ocean cliffs to the village beyond. The Krazoa Palace, as imposing as it was, also served as something of an aristocratic resort. The only permanent residents were the Royal family and the serf class that kept the small society operating. In between there was space for middle or noble Cerinian (and occasionally Saurian) families to rent out for a month or two. The accommodations were grand: full course meals, servants, complimentary access to the high religious officials…

It was these people that Zamo felt the greatest need to ignore. The noble children approached him as a demigod. They too were dressed in their finest clothes wearing jewelry and rich headbands of gold and jade. It was too much like being at court for Zamo to enjoy any part of it. The serf children, at least in Zamo's mind, were more interesting.

They passed the gawking onlookers and finally reached the royal living quarters. Scoria, a Sharpclawess – and a Bonobist convert – greeted them at the door, "Welcome home young Lord, and Rha Khafu. Can I get you anything?"

Non-celibate religious officials were allowed to have a spouse and three concubines at a time. Hite and Scoria were Mother's concubines. He'd only heard bits and pieces of the stories, but from what Zamo gathered, Mother had never been married… so his father must have been the _Third _Concubine. The one she never replaced.

He was a warrior.

He was a Cornerian.

He was desirable.

Those were the only three things Zamo knew about _him; _for that was the euphemism he was referred to by. Hite was a warrior, but certainly not Cornerian. Scoria was desirable (secretly, every Cornerian wanted a Sharpclawess in their bed, just to see what it was like) but neither Cornerian nor a man. The Wudtod Khafu was a celibate official, but while it was not unheard of for a monk to break his vows, the Khafu was not Cornerian.

Living as a fatherless god-king with your mother's lovers made one's head spin.

"Zamo," Khafu called, "Did you hear what I said?"

He removed his attention from the bowl of sweet rice and the sounds of play coming from the outside, "History of Cerinia."

"Yes," Khafu said, "the Migration."

"The Migration," Zamo heard this story since he was born and knew many of the personal narratives from people that survived it – including Khafu and Mother, "In 2590 the Skyward Swords descended onto Cerinia and demanded tribute, announcing we were now a part of their Republic."

"Correct. And did the Cerinians capitulate?"

"Yes. Grandfather…"

"Who was?"

"Twenty-third Xikibki Hadfesxo."

"That's _you_."

"My mistake," he felt foolish, "Twenty-second Xikibki Hadfesxo…"

"Are you distracted, Zamo?"

"I… I…" he could not bring himself into the present. The laughter of the village children drifted inside and demanded his attention. So what if he was destined to lead his people? Would the people want him to be miserable?

"What has your thoughts?" Khafu asked.

"The children outside. I want to play with them."

"You need to stay here and continue your primary studies, Zamo. The Xikibki does not have the liberty to while away his days playing dodge and skip."

"But I am a child too. Like them. The Xikibki can be both. Can't he?"

"Yes. All Xikibkis, indeed all Kichis, have gone through the cycles of birth, growth, decay, and death."

"Then why can't I be Xikibki for my lessons, but also have time to be a child?"

At first, Khafu seemed like he would refuse and demand another historical question from Zamo. But after a moment, his mouth twisted into a smile and he began laughing, "Go then! Go play but be back for evening meal or your mother will have my tail!"

He jumped from his seat and flew down the stairs outside the study, whizzing past Scoria so fast he didn't hear what she asked of him. He let the ceremonial parts of his robe and dress fall to the dusty road but found that he couldn't part with the bejeweled headdress even in his elated state of happiness at finally joining the other children at one of their games.

When he found them, six boys and three girls all standing in awe of him, he had lost all of his words. One by one, they fell to their knees and stretched their hands out over their heads as they whispered mantras. The ball they were playing with fell to the floor and rolled across the gymnasium to Zamo's feet. He carefully picked it up and held it out with the simple phrase, "Want to play?"

One boy picked up his head. Zamo instantly recognized him as the plumber's son. He was being apprenticed by his father to continue on the latter's work in the Palace and surrounding villages, "Why do _you _want to play with us?" he asked. Zamo distinctly remembered seeing the plumber's son climb out of a sewer in wet clothes and reeking of filth. At the time he was dressed in a golden ceremonial robe and was walking with Mother, dressed in a silver ceremonial gown, to kcosxi festival. After seeing a man and his boy covered in shit on kcosxi festival, Zamo asked Khafu why some people had to work while he got to enjoy the celebration, "There are three classes of people. The lowest one works so the top two can enjoy things like festivals and lifestyle."

Zamo considered this information while the boy stared him down. The others eventually followed his lead and rose. The plumber's son broke that tense reverent silence and asked, "What do you want to play?"

"Whatever you were playing before, "Zamo said, "I just want to join."

"It's… uh…" another boy, "I'm sorry Holy Xikibki…"

"No, no," he found it hard to turn off the courtly attitude, "Speak freely." Even outside the Palace, court followed him around.

"It's just that, we wouldn't want to hurt you in our game."

"And it's not really fair, you know," the plumber's son added, "You're the Xikibki, endowed with all of the powers of the Krazoa. How are we supposed to compete?"

"No! I wouldn't cheat. I promise. I just want to play."

None of them seemed certain what to do. One of the girls stepped up and said, "We could try a few rounds. It can't hurt."

A wicked smile crossed the plumber's boy's lips, "No powers, right?"

Zamo didn't have any control whatsoever of his apparent psychokinetic capabilities. Training wasn't supposed to begin for him for another four years. Any sooner and the trainer's energy could be wasted on leftover echoes of the child's ancestors, not on a gifted telepath. But just by being the Xikibki, the children of the village seemed to believe he was way more gifted than in reality, "No powers. Of course."

"All right, then!" the other children responded to the plumber's boy's volume. They all stood erect and split, "Same teams!" Zamo quickly learned the boy's name was Many and judging how Manu was very quick to throw the ball, at him, Manu was his in-game enemy. Zamo ducked so fast he felt to the dirt.

"Wait!" he called, "I don't know how to play!"

The children didn't stop. But a girl came up to him with all of her earrings on one ear and none in the other, "Don't worry, I'll help you!" she held his arm and helped him get back to his feet, "The other team has to pick up a ball. Before you can throw it at the other team, you have to throw it in the air and one of your other teammates has to catch it. Do that twice and the ball is _charged_."

Zamo watched the process unfold. Once a ball on the opposite half of the court was _charged, _Manu threw it at Zamo. He didn't panic this time. Instead, he caught the ball, "Good!" she yelled excitedly, "Now if you were hit once, that catch _heals _you."

Her explanation was poorly timed. A ball came flying from their left flank and hit her on the side, "Ah!" she picked up the ball, "Being hit once means I'm _wounded_. If I get hit again I'm _out_." They threw their balls up to charge. Zamo was liking this game. They did it again. She pointed to a boy from the opposite team, "Him!" they threw their balls simultaneously. They hit the boy one after the other knocking him or his tail, "Out!" the girl yelled.

"What is this game called?"

"_War_."

A ball came out from nowhere and hit her on the side of the head. It came with such force that it knocked her to the ground and sent up a cloud of dust. The ball bounced off of her head and back into Manu's arms. He laughed as she tried to get up.

"_Ahh!_" she rolled onto her tail and wiped the blood from her snout, "Manu! You son of a whore!"

"Language!" Manu was still chuckling, "You think your lawyer daddy would like to hear you talk like that?"

"_Fuck _you." She spat.

He sucked on his teeth, "Doesn't change the fact that you're _dead_."

_Dead_. Not _out._

"C'mon, now, get off the court." She obeyed. When Zamo looked around there was only two of them left. The entire court was empty, "Looks like it's just you and me, Xikibki."

One of the other children shouted from the outside, "Game's over, Manu. Don't take advantage because he doesn't know the rules."

"_Shut up!_" Manu screamed, "He stepped onto _my _court. You all saw it. _He _came to _me _and said he wanted to play. So for once, _I _make the rules." Many had a frightening look in his eyes. It was a look that sent Zamo's teeth chattering and his skin stand up. He remembered seeing that look only once before Hite and his men captured and killed a dozen Sharpclaw assassins. The Sharpclaw, Mother called them Spirit Dancers, were brought to court to speak to their crimes. One of them – huge, hulking, writhing orange scales beneath chains barely keeping him under check – slipped into a trance and began screaming. Red foam dripped from his mouth as his eyes fixed on Zamo and his chains threatened to snap. Hite managed to get the prisoner's under control before their execution. After that night, when Zamo had stopped crying, Mother had to explain to him what the words "rape" and "corpse" meant. She also told him, "You are the blood of Cerinia. And you are the god-king of our people. Even as a child, you must not show fear."

"What are the rules." Zamo called.

"Since there's only one person per team, you can't charge the ball." A boy explained, "Uncharged balls have no effect. The game is over. Technically, no one ever wins at _War_."

The look in Manu's eyes said otherwise, "C'mon, Holiness, it's _just_ a game." He threw the ball up in the air once as a mock charge, "You can't tell me you're scared?" he threw it up again.

Zamo closed his eyes and when he opened them, saw only a vicious Spirit Dancer, "No."

As if the ball was actually charged with psychic energy, it flew at Zamo. For a split second he was certain the thing would crush his face. But something or someone else took hold of him, leapt into the air, caught the ball, and rolled to safety.

He isn't too sure what happened next, but for the rest of his life, Zamo never forgot how he felt:

He lifted the ball to throw it, but felt possessed. As if he was a puppet aware of the strings. But he couldn't turn his head and see the puppeteer. He felt the world slow to a crawl and instead of the children in front of him, he saw their entire lives. He saw boys grow up and die in war. He saw the girls have children, become grandmothers, and die. He saw old men full of grief. Old ladies yearn for youth. And in the end he saw skulls and bones and death. Corpses. His green puppet eyes fixed on Manu. He commanded, "_Drop dead!_"

And he did.

Manu flew back as if hit and collapsed in a flurry of dust. He didn't make a noise or move. For the longest time, there was complete silence. He felt himself scream, but didn't hear a thing. Who or whatever it was that possessed him had passed. Leaving only a shadow and a void in its wake. Zamo felt weak and fell to his knees. Darkness overtook him and he no longer felt.

An undetermined amount of time later, he was lying on his bed in the Palace. Khafu and Scoria were feeding him water and praying. There was a rag on his forehead to bring him to. Lots of noise surrounded them. Lots of _emotions_: anger, confusion, betrayal, fury, sadness, grief, violence. Khafu refused to let them question him. It was useless, anyway, Zamo could barely remember anything. It was a mystery deepened by his clenched fingers. Scoria pried each one loose and picked up the ball, "Zamo, why are you still holding this?"

The ball never left his hand.


	5. Fox II

**Chapter 5: Fox II**

_Haven't I told you to never give up? _The voice echoed in his ears. Sobriety was the enemy when it came to manifestations of his father. _Son, how many times can I say it? _Fox once asked her why: it was counter-intuitive to think that a sober mind is more flexible and more prone to mind emanations than an inebriated mind. "You would think that," she said, "but it has more to do with alcohol disrupting response time and nerve signals. The emanation may try to penetrate your drunk psyche, but can't find a way out."

_I have something very important to tell you_.

"What is it?" Fox asked. He was regaining feeling in his hand and feet, "Tell me."

_Can you hear me?_

"Yes."

"_Can you hear me?" _

The voice lost his father's masculine cadence and sounded rather… feminine. Fox managed to open his eyes and found himself below a bright light with a silhouette of a figure staring down at him. Two large ears made it seem like Dad at first, but colors entered the mix and James McCloud certainly did not have pink fur.

Another head entered the equation. This one amphibious, "His vitals are good," she said, "He'll be out of it in a second."

"Fox, can you hear me?"

It was a voice he hadn't heard in well over a decade. They met in flight school. Had a fling before she fell for… what was his name? Luckily he met Fara after that. They met up briefly in the War. Zoness. And the polluted Sea of Sorrows. They blew up twenty-three lighthouses together. Yes, it was coming back to him.

"Katt?"

She smiled, "Hey, there, lover boy."

"What the hell?"

"Sorry about that," the amphibian said, "We weren't 100% sure how to handle all of this. We just wanted to be careful and avoid detection." She put away her instrument, "You can sit up now if you need to. Slowly, though."

Fox held his head and lifted his body as carefully as possible, "I'm sorry, you are?"

"How rude of me!" she held out her hand, "Amanda Pondder. Medical officer of _Slippy's Girls _here on the _Great Fox_." Katt shook her head and tried to shush Amanda but it was already too late.

"_What?_" Fox shot towards Katt looking for an explanation.

"Get dressed. I'll tell you everything." The feline mercenary tapped his bare shoulder and headed for the door, "C'mon, Mandii." It slid open with a familiar _hiss_. She turned to Fox and said, "Good to see you, Fox." They left and the door hissed shut.

Fox put on his shirt – hanging loosely off what he could only assume was a sterile counter. The infirmary was a room Fox spent a great deal of time in during the war. Star Fox never thought to get a medical officer so the four of them were constantly doing first aid on each other. Not until she joined the team did the infirmary look half as good as this. Fox hissed the door open and walked out into the corridor. "Let's see the hangar." Katt said, offering Fox a tour of his own ship.

The _Great Fox, _powerful as she was, was really just a big spacecraft carrier with two magnetic shredder round cannons. It was mostly hollow to save room for a maximum of eight spacecraft and six other vehicles. The hangar here, however, was mostly empty. It held three Arwings in perfect condition, one and a half Landmasters, the Blue Marine covered in out of control algae, Katt's pink ship almost entirely devoid of paint, and Fox's very recognizable and in-need-of-replacing Arwing.

There was a pair of legs sticking out from behind the ship's engine. Mechanical noises echoed through the chamber. Katt led Fox across the metal staircase down to his Arwing. He was surprised to recognize the blue face staring back at him.

"Fox, this is our mechanic, Emerald."

She smiled at him. It was a knowing smile that two lovers would normally share after they put their clothes back on and re-entered the world. Except they never made love. All Fox did was suck on her nipple. All Emerald did was poison him to kidnap and bring him to this ship, "Yeah, we've met."

"It's actually nice to see you, Fox." She held out her hand, "No hard feelings?" Fox had a lot of hard feelings, but certainly felt like he shouldn't. If anything, he was confused and tired and sober. He didn't feel like he had an honest reason to be upset. Other than a late case of blue balls, so to speak. He took her hand, "Don't worry," she said, "I'm just doing some necessary repairs on your Arwing. It'll be good as new when I'm done with it."

"We've almost got a fully functional squadron." Katt explained. A working Landmaster and Submarine. And with yours, four pristine Arwings." She gestured to the vehicles, "All thanks to Em, here. Kickass, right?"

Fox didn't answer.

"I know it's a lot to take in… let's move on ahead. We'll talk technicalities later." She led Fox out of the hangar and to the corridor. She showed him the mess, the dorms, and even the engine room. The theme of the tour was _look at all the fix ups we made! _But Fox was stuck in the past. All he could see were memories from the war. He saw himself getting drunk with the team in the mess. He saw late night card games in the dorm. The first time he kissed _her _was in the engine room after three cups of ukuu. Behind all those memories were explosions, gun fire, and a fair share of blood. He remembered working on his Arwing when a courier came to tell him about the failed mission on Venom. Or when Wolf came and gut shot him in broad daylight. The _Great Fox _was a big empty ship that McCloud and Phoenix money filled with military hardware, but Fox filled with pain and blood.

"Why…" Fox began, as Katt led him to the bridge, "No. Not why, _how?" _

"How, what?"

"How did you do all of this?"

"After the Battle of Sector Z, the Venomians just left the wreck here. Lucy and I escaped the Purge and eventually got the bright idea to find the _Fox _and try to fix it up. Those missiles did a number on the old girl. You should've seen it, Fox. Missing a wing and a half, we had to restore life support one room at a time. It was excruciating. You should've seen our surprise when we found Slippy in cryo."

"Wait, _what_?" he couldn't believe his ears.

"We thought for sure he was dead, but there he was. He must have put himself in stasis as the _Great Fox _was going down. ROB 64 saved the whole ship, pushing it inside the nebula to hide it from enemy forces. It took the four of us a year to locate it."

"Slippy… he's alive?"

"Well," there was a microscopic pause, "Yes."

He could hardly contain his excitement. All these years and he thought his high school best friend went down with the ship. To find him alive…

"Show me!"

Katt led him to the bridge, "Just… one thing." She held her hand over the control panel to open the door, "Manage your expectations." Even still, Fox could barely contain his excitement. She punched in the four digit code that opened the door and revealed a dark bridge with the huge view out into space. Here the view was the still glowing red and orange dust of Sector Z. It illuminated the bridge to show a carnival-esque version of how Fox remembered it: mechanical schematics and planetary paper maps were scattered across the floor with no semblance of order or meaning, a dozen mysterious machines were likewise, a funhouse imitation of ROB 64 was grafted to the wall with eight arms coming out of his "body" which now extended across the bridge, over on the far side of the room by the jukebox, Slippy Toad was sitting on the floor tinkering with a machine. In the center was a dusty old chair. A white vest was draped over the back, a dark console attached to the arm rest, and a familiar knife sitting in the seat. Lucy Hare was configuring software at the communications console.

She picked up her head first, "Fox!" she looked haggard and exhausted. Like she hadn't slept since Fox last saw her 20 year ago. She put down the console and walked over to kissed Fox on the cheek, "Good to see you again."

"You too, Luce." He pushed past her and stepped closer to Slippy, "Slip? Is that really you?"

Slippy said nothing, seemed not to hear Fox at all. When Fox reached a hand to Slippy's shoulder, the screw driver he was using flew up and almost stabbed Fox in the hand. Instead it hit the juke box which started playing Explosions in the Sky, "If I've told you once, I told you a thousand times you wretched girl you don't interrupt a torrent as it crashed to the ocean! Do you want to fall under a stampede of water?" But loose recognition filled his eyes and he finally smiled, "Oh… oh, Captain. No. That was long ago… Surely you're an Admiral now, come to see your old hunting grounds. I assure you, they've much improved. Come, come look and see the vast field." He stood and took Fox's hand, leading him to the central chair, "Look! Just as you left it. I wouldn't let them touch it as my name's not Slippy B. Toad. Go ahead, ask the mistress of the house. She cares for us and knows just how particular and tight we keep this ship. Don't worry, Admiral, you were right to put me in charge while you were off fighting. Have I ever let you down?" A piece of the machine he was holding clattered to the floor. Slippy picked it up as quickly as it fell and said, "Woop! See how quickly things fall apart? If it wasn't for ROB 64_00_ and me, who knows where this ship would be?" he scurried off to the juke box and pulled the screwdrivers out of the metal to continue working.

Unprovoked, Katt offered an explanation, "Cryo is a very crude process. In the emergency state it took him to get there, he was lucky to have survived at all." She walked closer to Fox and sighed, "He was in there for almost a decade. Any longer and his language centers would have been rewired. But if anything all that mechanical genius has been enhanced. The _Great Fox, _on paper, has way more power and maneuverability than it ever did. Andross won't know what hit him."

Fox let his hand fall to the command chair, "What?" he turned to glare at Katt.

"It started when we found the _Great Fox_. We wanted to use it as a base to unite all anti-Oikonny resistance groups. But then we found Slippy and we knew that if we could rebuild the old Star Fox team, we could add a whole new level of legitimacy. There are still people out there shouting_ Fox lives! _in Victory Square."

"Between me and Slippy, you have one full Star Fox member."

"And we know we can get the other two." Katt said overconfidently.

"What? How? Falco has _turned_. He's a _traitor_. And Peppy is _dead_."

"No he's not!" Lucy stepped in front of Katt, "I infiltrated the security system. They wouldn't kill Peppy without a big public execution like they did with Dr. Beltino. I know for a fact my Dad is locked in the _Aquas Silence_."

"Oh! Well even _better_. Your father is in the single most impenetrable fortress in the entire galaxy. It'd be easier to get him out if he actually _was _dead. So, that's your grand plan for resistance? Bring a washed up smuggler and a crackpot to take an old traitor and have us make a suicidal assault on the _Silence_?"

"I've studied Falco. He's not a traitor. He's a survivor." Katt defended him, but Fox remembered the Battle of Cape Claw very well. His shoulder and left ear burned when he thought of Falco.

Fox picked up the knife in the seat and flipped it open with a flick of his wrist. Even better than new. When he looked up, he saw Dad with a clever smile on his face, _See. I told you. Don't ever give up, my son._ He looked around the bridge at the shadow it once was. The embers of memory, of hatred for the one ape who took away his family and friends suddenly stirred with all this wood left to sit and dry for almost two decades. _Fox… _he closed his eyes and Dad disappeared. When he opened them, Katt was standing there.

He took the knife and left the vest. He marched to the corridor intending to jump in his Arwing and get as far away from here as possible. Maybe a whole different star system. Katt stood in front of him and held his shoulder. He violently shook her off without a word. She tried to stop him again, this time squeezing his shoulder saying, "Fox!" she wouldn't let go. He whirled and punched her in the face. She flew back onto the deck. Fox didn't bother to see if she would get up. He tried to punch open the door but the code was different from what he remembered.

"Fucking _open_!" He felt a hand at the back of his head. Katt slammed his face into the door. Twice. He elbowed her in the gut as hard as he could, turned, and tried to kick her away from him. Instead, she caught his leg and hit him in the face. He braced his back against the wall and kicked her away with both legs. She stumbled back but immediately launched to her feet and put up her fists. Fox pulled out his knife and flipped it open, "Don't you _fucking_ come near me." In the lowest whisper, he threatened her, "I'll _kill_ you."

Lucy punched in the code and the door opened, "Just go." She said. Fox stared at Katt's wide eyed and ready to fight with her fists still held up. He turned to Lucy who had tears in her eyes, running down her cheeks. Slippy, off in the far side of the bridge, was tinkering away and muttering to himself. He seemed not even to notice what was happening.

Fox closed the knife, turned, and walked down the corridor.


	6. Falco II

**Chapter 6: Falco II**

The last time Falco was on Cape Claw, he was carrying an assault rifle and clearing it of headhunters. The biggest building was a stone hut though there were rumors of magnificent temples hidden in the Cliffside. When the ship landed at the military space port Falco was shocked to see a booming urban center that took merely a decade to seed, germinate, and bloom. _If only they knew I established this place, _he thought.

At the landing pad there was a young uniformed canid. She wore a dozen campaign medals – all Saurian – and held the rank of a Lieutenant. On her nametag were the letters "Grey."

"Colonel Lombardi!" she saluted, "Good to finally meet you."

"You're Michelle Grey? Bill's daughter?" Falco returned the salute.

"One and the same, sir. I've been asked to give you a quick tour of Main Street and bring you to OFPT. They'll be departing for Walled City as soon as you arrive." She led Falco to her modified Landmaster II. Instead of treads, it had metal wheels. There was no cannon mountain on top, but there was room for a gunmount and plenty of sitting room. The driver and passengers weren't confirmed to an armored interior, but were open to the elements for all intents and purposes it was an all-terrain personnel vehicle. Falco climbed in, eager to see the city he planted.

Almost immediately they were driving through Corneria-style concrete apartment buildings, "Lower-class housing," Michelle explained, "Living space mostly for immigrants."

"Where do they emigrate from?"

"Pick a place. The big three are Corneria, Fichina, and Sauria."

"From Sauria to Sauria?"

"From their tribe to Cape Claw. We get warmth seekers from Fichina, and labor seekers from Corneria. They tend to congregate along racial and tribal lines. You get your typical lower class social bullshit here: drugs, gangs, prostitution. No matter how much money gets thrown at the system, the scum always find a way to work around it. There's hospitals, parks, rehab centers. My father says the problem is getting better but you'd never know just by looking at it."

They left the slums and moved into an industrial center, "All this tends to be resource processing before it's sent off-world. Macbeth, Eladard, Corneria, etc. It's funny at the end of the day to watch all the migrant workers move from the factories in land, and the managers from the factories to the coast."

Once they passed the industrial district the pungent smell of salt filled Falco's senses, "We're close." He said.

"Yep!" Just as she confirmed it, the Ocean entered their view, blocked only by the burgeoning metropolis, "Not quite a young Corneria yet. But a small city. In another century it'll be as big as old Sedjkudkadefco." In the very center of Cape Claw Colony was – by the strictest definition of the term – a skyscraper that served as many businesses' Saurian HQ. Below that tower was a host of upper-class apartments as well as shopping and theater districts. The difference between seaside beach resort and the concrete slum fifteen minutes in land was startling to Falco. As Michelle drove him through Main Street, he had a hard time believing he was in Sauria and not Corneria.

Michelle took a hard left and drove them up a series of switchbacks and through a number of military checkpoints. She parked the LM just outside of an imposing gate marked with the words "Ocean Force Point Temple – Cornerian Defense Force Planetary Central Command." Inside was a startling fusion of incredible ancient architecture decorated with mosaics from floor to ceiling, overlaid with modern infrastructure. Over the centuries-old scriptures carved into the walls and floors were computer consoles and desks with military personnel sending messages to CDF forces around the planet, "My father is this way." Michelle led Falco to an elevator grafted to a holy shaft of light that once diffused into a large crystal at the base of the column, now interrupted by the elevator.

At the top was the roof of the Temple. A small glass office revealed Brigadier General William Grey sitting at his desk going over a series of files on his glass console. Falco thought it was interesting: Grey's office was no bigger than the dorm room Falco was stuffed in for the trip over from Corneria.

Bill extended his office and waved Falco and Michelle to the dropship waiting a hundred feet away. There were two others loaded with infantrymen a bit farther down the roof. Michelle helped Falco into the ship. He buckled himself in before Bill greeted him, "Sorry we skipped the grand formalities. The Cerinian Queen has called for a meeting so we have to get our ass to Walled City to find out what she wants."

"Cerinian Queen?" Falco asked as the ship launched into the air.

"How much do you know about the political situation down here?"

"Seriously?"

"Yes."

"The last time I was here it was a _shoot first-questions later _sort of deal. I wasn't introduced to the factions or anything of the sort."

"I'll lend you my copy of Dr. Doa's _History_. For now let me just give you the basic us vee them. We're the head of the Southern Faction, more or less. In descending order of loyalty, our allies are General Scales of the Sharpclaw Bxuduko, King Zumoudw of the Thibfu tribe, and the Earthwalkers."

"Wait… could you go over that again?"

"Geez, Lombardi… weren't you given any briefing materials on the way over?"

"Actually, no."

He sighed heavily over the COM link. The years were not kind to Bill. His mouth was carved into what seemed like an eternal frown and his eyes held this piercing glare sharpened through years of discipline and pain, "General Scales is a Sharpclaw warlord. United the tribes after we swept into the area and turned into our client. They give us exclusive rights to their territory in return for hardware."

"Seriously?" Falco asked. He shot his fair share of Sharpclaw last time he was on Sauria.

"Yes, seriously. Listen. King Zumoudw…"

"One more time."

"King _Zumo_ leads the Thibfu Nation. They're an extraordinarily proud people. All Saurian, Cerinian descendants. Blue-furred, ultra-religious, with psychokinetics in their armies. Zumo's a politician. He has goals that, for the time being, we further. As soon as we don't, he and his entire Nation will turn against us."

"Nice. And the Earthwalkers."

"Loathe us. As soon as they get the opportunity, they'll turn on us and kill as many as they can."

"Is there are reason?"

"We kidnapped the Crown Prince."

Falco almost didn't believe him but he stared at Bill's face long enough to realize it wasn't a joke, "What the _hell_, Bill?"

"It was orders. Straight from the Top." _Andross_.

"_Zojij Sxhajk_… why?"

"Because the Earthwalkers were unruly and willful. Every couple of months we give them a video conference with Prince Torriki alive and well and they do what we ask."

Falco felt enormously uncomfortable. But being back in his element – on ship in a warzone – gave him confidence, "Where is he?"

"How should I know? Somewhere the Earthwalkers will never find him. Probably off-planet."

"So we're allied with a General who condones rape as a war strategy and a religious right, a malicious tribal King who's using us as much as we're using him, and Dinosaurs we've blackmailed into obeying us. Anything else I should know?"

"Yes," Bill said matter-of-factly, "Our enemy. You remember Krystal, Fox's girlfriend during the war?"

Shame filled Falco's throat and soon traveled to other parts of his body, "Yeah, I remember."

"She's risen to become Bxodte of the Cerinian Bxuduko in Exile. She rules technically through her son who she claims is the reincarnation of her own father."

_Bxodte. Bxuduko_. "A lot of words you're throwing at me are very unfamiliar. I know very little Saurian."

"_Bxodte_: Queen. _Bxuduko:_ Empire. They call us Corneria Bxuduko. Cerinian society is typically run by priests that claim to be the reincarnations of their predecessors. Krystal's father was the single most powerful one of these _Kichis _on Cerinia. To legitimize her own rule, she claims her son is his reincarnate."

"And _this _is our most powerful enemy."

"Don't let their crackpot religion fool you. The Cerinians command an extremely loyal population. The Xikibki is only nine, but more than a hundred tribes follow his young spiritual leadership. Cuej, Umtenu, Bxumfu, Cutubxa, Tua. A bunch of tiny peoples powerless on their own but united, cause a whole lot of fucking dead Cornerians." Bill laughed, "And _then _there's the Bonobists."

"Isn't that a religion?"

"Yep. And here they've _centralized_. There's a Pope and a Popess and they have a central temple on Whartonia. It's their own little city-state but other than that the Bonobists don't actually play politics technically speaking. To get native leaders to give them land for temples and potential for converts, they offer military hardware. The Saurians hate the foreign religion, but they love the weapons. If it wasn't for the damn Bonobists feeding Krystal rifles, artillery, and aircraft, we could've destroyed her by now. So when you see her all decked out in tribal gear, remember that behind the ceremony is a whole lot of firepower."

"We're meeting her?" the ship started to descend over a Peninsula jutting out into an enormous inland sea.

"And Scales, Zumo, and the Earthwalker Royals. Also, control your trigger finger. Krystal usually keeps a couple headhunters for guards."

Walled City was even more impressive than Cape Claw. It was a golden-bricked masterpiece of medieval architecture. The central temple, a pyramid structure, was split in an eastern half and a western one. Bill explained that the city served as a dual capital: one for the Earthwalker tribe, and one for the Thibfu. The city was far from limited to those tribes, however. Just from the short journey from the landing site outside the city to the receiving hall at the top of the pyramid, Falco saw all manner of peoples from the lowland almost naked Cuej, to the robed devout looking Kichi he'd heard so much about, to the monstrous Lightfoot, even Zonesian Avians like himself, and all other Cornerian races opening offices and selling off-planet goods. Michelle pointed out the different costumes of the blue-furred Cerinians and made comments about their tribe and culture. Falco barely remembered any of it, but he was certainly fascinated.

He saw his first Sharpclawess. He felt stupid, like he'd certainly seen them before in Corneria but there they were dressed like businesswomen and office drones. Here they all looked like they were ready for a day at the beach. Falco felt his blood race when a green-scaled woman flashed her eyes at him. He reminded himself that he was a married man.

At the top of the pyramid where court was being held, the Cornerians were the last to arrive. At the east side of the open room were the magnificent thrones for the Earthwalker King and Queen. Surrounding them was a host of courtiers from many different tribes. There were her ladies-in-waiting, his personal guards, a court historian and bard, a jester, and some distant members of the royal family.

On the north side of the room was the Cerinians. Bxodte Krystal was seated on an elaborate combination of pillows surrounded by her fair share of advisors, courtiers, and guards. Falco took note of the headhunters in white and red tunics with long curved blades. He met his fair share of those back in the day. Krystal herself was of mild interest to Falco. She no longer seemed like the starry-eyed young girl Fox would blow him off for. There, in front of him, dressed in an elaborate and shining gown of epic dimension, was the woman Falco never thought he'd know.

The west side of the chamber had a Throne for Bxud Zumo but instead of his whole court, his allies, General Scales and Brigadier General Grey filled it with their men, "Well, now that we're all here, King Zumo announced, "My lady, you called this meeting. You may begin if you'd like."

"I would, Zumoudw. First, your majesties, how is your son?" she turned to face the Earthwalkers. They looked saddened at the mention of the Prince. Falco knew she did it to remind them who was their friend, and who kidnapped their son."

"Alive and he's in high spirits." The Earthwalker Queen answered, "Thank you for asking, your grace."

"And Zumoudw, your father's health continues to improve?" she turned to the King. Falco noticed he was roughly ten years older than her. King Zumo could hardly keep his eyes off the shocking leader of Cerinia.

"Yes. He still holds out hope that he'll see my wedding day." A smile curled the ends of his mouth, revealing a devilish set of teeth.

"I think we all hope to see that." Krystal had a perfect fake laugh. Falco almost believed it, "Brigadier General Grey. It's been almost a week. I'd nearly forgotten what your face looks like."

"A blessing in your case. But I never get tired of seeing yours." Bill spoke with a strange air of sincerity.

Michelle leaned into Falco's ear and said, "It's all formalities. The hosts and guests need to compliment each other before they say what they came to say. Of course, at a political event like this, you can gauge where each party stands based on the compliment given."

"And who is that back there? Have we met?" Krystal asked.

Falco stepped forward, "Colonel Falco Lombardi, at your service, ma'am." He bowed, unsure as to why but he felt it was appropriate.

Krystal stood and took a short walk to within arm's reach of Falco. She reached out a hand and touched his face, "Falco… you know I've dreamed of this day? I thought it was just a dream but here you are."

Falco couldn't help but smile with her, "It's good to see you, Krys."

She winked at him and went to go sit down, "It's a pleasure, of course, but I've come to discuss the Ice Mountains." The Earthwalkers perked up while Scales and Grey were unreadable. Zumo just fixed his eyes on Krystal and watched as she spoke, "It was my understanding that hunting grounds were equivalent to an international border."

"Yes," Queen Earthwalker agreed, "that was our understanding as well."

"Then it serves as a mystery why my people on the Ice Mountains are facing Earthwalker soldiers on the south slopes of said mountain range."

There was an awkward silence until Bill broke it, "Hunting grounds were never understood by Cornerian law to be international border zones. In fact, precedent…"

"Precedent dictates that an uncontested hunting ground, when one party is solely benefitting from the produce in that zone, is legally entitled to _that _land. Also, Brigadier General Grey, I am not _blind _but as far as I have heard, only Earthwalker soldiers have trespassed on my lands. This marks a tribal dispute, but based on the Treaty of Thorntail Hollow, any Cornerian soldiers trespassing on my lands constitutes an act of war."

"I assure you, Bxodte," Bill said, "No Cornerian soldiers have been trespassing in Cerinian territory." Everyone knew that statement was a lie. Cornerian and Cerinian soldiers passed covertly through each other's territory all of the time. It was their game of cat-and-mouse. Their cold war killed hundreds per year, but as long as no one actually acknowledged it, the war remained cold.

Scales smiled viciously. He was great at remaining silent and looking malicious. While the Cerinians and Cornerians butchered each other in the wilderness, the Sharpclaw were more than eager to join in. Whole villages were discovered in the border zone completely decimated with Cerinians never heard from again. Falco was comfortable not knowing what happened to them. The alternatives…

In a few short sentences, Krystal managed to lock her apparent and her real enemy into a verbal quandary. The Earthwalkers acknowledged – accidentally so – that the Ice Mountains were in fact Cerinian land. She also forced the Cornerians to acknowledge that the Ice Mountain were off limits for their covert games. It was the sort of problem that Bill was suddenly faced with: why did Krystal want the Ice Mountains off limits? And should Bill really risk an international incident trying to find out?

There were some other issues discussed. Hidden threats were tucked inside smiles and stern declarations of territorial integrity. The only two characters of note not to speak at all were the King Earthwalker and General Scales. The former out of grief and anger. The latter chuckled under his breath and drank from a golden goblet.

Falco breathed a sigh of relief when they left. Things sure were easier when he was here last time. On the ship jetting back to Cape Claw, Bill revealed to Falco his plan: "Let's give it two weeks. Things will simmer down. And then we'll see why she wants us off those Mountains so bad."


	7. Fara I

**Chapter 7: Fara I**

Throughout history, the decisions that weren't made on the battlefield were made at a vacation resort. After Rahhid Phoenix conquered the Ytrebil basin and secured the Eamet Coast, he shared a bottle of scotch with the founders of the Republic. After Andross conquered the Lylat, he and a dozen other power brokers met at a ski resort to divide up the planets over pancakes.

Fara tried not to think of allusions to her circumstance as she stared out the window of their hotel-cum-conference hall.

The Rift Junction Islands were a long archipalego that, even in ancient Zoness, served as the resting abode for Kings and Conquerors. Zonesian people – all variety of winged avians like her husband – were no longer running the show on the RJI's. If anything, they were subservient. The Islands, still maintaining their important resort capacity, catered more for the wealthy Cornerian aristocrat than the demanding Zonesian king.

According to Dr. Doa's _History_, Zoness was a global civilization long before Corneria was. Low gravity – two thirds that of Corneria – and high air pressure gave rise to her husband's people who took advantage of planet-circling air currents and spread across the globe. Corneria had three global wars in her history. On Zoness, it was hard for any conflict _not _to become planetary in nature.

Western Harbor looked out to the sea at an ocean snaking between Antipodia and Greater Eebok – Zoness' western continents. The harbor wormed its way between a dozen cliff faces that dropped directly into the water leaving a sprawling town of stilt-crafted houses for the sea-and-air dwelling Zonesians. Fara traveled among them long ago when she was still her father's apprentice in Dynamic Shipping Ltd. She always wanted to visit with Falco, but the nature of their work kept them from ever visiting.

The resort was about as far from the local Zonesian experience as one could get. Somewhere between the marble floors, the cocktail bar, the classically Fennec statues, and the Tsudish leather chairs, Fara asked why they even bothered to leave Corneria in the first place?

There were special glasses that read "Annual Tanistry Committee 83 a.U." She took one and began sipping the noxious rum-based drink. On the other side of the room, Governor Dengar was sitting at the bar surrounded by Titanian politicians and two hired wenches. The Aparoid Invasion was nine years ago. Pigma wasn't still riding off his fame as the Hero of Lylat. His appearance, demeanor, and ignorance far surpassed the Battle of Corneria's panty-dropping capabilities. Either the women around Pigma's arms were either Titanian slaves (no, there was no slavery… just serfdom on Titania) or Zonesian prostitutes.

Fara didn't really care. Pigma Dengar was the scum of Lylat and there would always be prostitutes. At least Pigma would pay them if they were actual whores. Slavery on Titania was another issue entirely.

A Zonesian serving girl came up to Fara and asked, "Is there anything I can get you, Madam Representative?" she had green feathers and well groomed features. She had a huge round beak and a set of enormous wings. The hotel uniform – a simple white buttoned down shirt with black pants – was unisex and completely Cornerian. Some hotels in the area tried to maintain the illusion of actually being on an exotic and foreign would and not a vacation resort, and came up with faux native uniforms for their staff.

The girl looked like she was nineteen or twenty. Fara smiled and reached into her pocket and pulled out a pair of white pills, "If you could, when the Hero over there orders another drink, please do me a favor and pop this into his glass."

She looked back at Fara with concern deep in her eyes, "Is… is it… Madam… I don't think I can."

"What's your name?"

"Uh… Jeira."

"Jeira," Fara tried to soften her gaze, "Yes. It's perfectly safe. It's a laxative."

Jeira began laughing nervously, "Oh, ma'am. You had me worried… I was worried you were asking me to…"

"No. Nothing of that sort. I would be in even more trouble than you."

Jeira laughed again, "I… I, uh, am sure I trust you. But, madam, I might lose my job if I was ever found out."

"Of course," Fara put the pills back in her pocket, "Thank you, Jeira, I don't need anything." Jeira walked off and asked another Lylatian politician if he needed something.

Fara had never met Andross' grandson before this moment on a hotel in the Rift Junction Isles. But she'd heard plenty about the young Governor of Venom. At only 29, he was the youngest person here at the Tanistry Committee. Technically, he outranked Fara, but his political experience was subordinate to pretty much anyone else's. Dash Bowman cut his teeth getting his undergrad in history working as a research assistant to Dr. Doa and after that getting his doctorate at Eamet University in Political Science. He began studying constitutional law when his grandfather brought him into the Dynastic branch of Lylatian government.

"Madam Representative," Dash was a bit shorter than she was. He had a close-cropped head of hair and large blue eyes. It was clear he took extremely good care of himself to an almost obsessive degree. He wore two rings on his left hand: one for his undergrad at CCU and the other for Eamet, "I'm so glad to finally make your acquaintence."

"And yours, Governor Bowman," Fara moved her back to the wall behind her to keep Dash and Pigma in one line of sight, "What can I do for you?"

"I'm just trying to make everyone's acquaintence. I've been governor for a year but basically confined to Venom."

"Where I saw you've advanced not only industrial output but also agricultural output. Your terraforming projects are really impressive."

"Thank you… the Venomian people are very industrious. They just needed the resources to build their planet that was never properly distributed throughout the Lylat System."

Fara held her tongue. _Indeed, _she wanted to say, _it's how Andross first gathered an army: by exploiting the Venomian people's desire for a better world, and a brighter future. Instead, he won the war and moved the government to Corneria and Venom stayed a backwater. _Regardless of how sharp Dash was – he could hardly ignore the historic reality of Andross' promises to Venom – he was still the Emperor's grandson. Fara _had _to step lightly.

"Papetoon was not dissimilar when I was first elected to a Representative position. Fifteen years ago mining corporations controlled everything from the governor's office to local sheriffs. Now, we've broken up the cartels, promoted worker's unions, and reduced the sex trafficking. It's been eventful to say the least."

"If I may say so, Madam, your work on Papetoon has been an inspiration."

"On the contrary, Dash. I'm responsible for partial governance of Corneria's moon with less than three million people on it. You're responsible or total governance of a monstrous planet by comparison. It's I who should be inspired by you."

"May I ask you a question?"

Dash, for all his intelligence, was a bit awkward, "Shoot."

"Why do you do it?"

"Why do I do _what_?" she asked.

Dash finished his drink, "Why do you do… this?" he gestured around, giving Pigma a dirty glance, "This debauchery of a government. One that tried to destroy… em… the previous one," _You were going to say 'your family,' _"I mean, what happens on Papetoon – or Venom – stays on Papetoon… or Venom. But I hate _this_. Interplanetary government is awful. And everyone knows it."

"But what is it you're asking?"

"You're not in the line of succession any more. So it's not for political gain. You're independently wealthy. So it's not for money. Why are you in politics at all? Why do you stay?"

"Dash…" Fara sighed, "Emperor Kalos IV was my fourth cousin once or twice removed. It's been a while since I checked the family tree. Either way, I had too many cousins in front of me. If I wanted to be Empress, I would have had to step over a lot of dead bodies. Including my older brother and sister. Hell, my father was deciding on an heir for the business and the only reason I ended up with it is because my brother prefers dance, and my sister prefers…" _heroin_, "interests of her own. When I was born I grew up in a royal family, knowing the closest I could ever get to the Throne was a last name and a family reunion. I'm alive. You can see it turned out to be a blessing in disguise."

"But that's not entirely true. Had history turned out differently, you might've married Prince Kalos." Dash sipped from his drink, relishing the look of surprise on Fara's face, "I… uh," she realized she had misjudged his awkwardness for something else entirely, "Well, Kalos was only a few weeks older than I was. We used to spend our vacations together with some other aristocrat children. We were pushed together from an early age, but I would have been Empress-Consort if that were the case. Not legitimate in my own right. Very, very different." She hadn't heard Kalos' name in years…

"Which brings me back to my original question: why?"

She was growing tired of this game, "There's a saying from the Kudkhu: To truly rule is to serve."

"So service? You are a servant to the Lylatian people?"

"I like to think so. I want to see the lives of Papetoon's citizens bettered. I'll never get to the Throne. I never was going to. So what? I'm here for the average Lylatian. Not myself. My cousin forgot that. It's why half of the Phoenixes are buried and not still ruling from on high."

"By that logic…"

Did Dash really think Fara was going to finish that sentence?

He didn't wait too long and continued, "By that logic, neither will us Oikonnys."

"Technically," Fara began, "You're not an Oikonny. And even if you were, you won't be able to convince electors to vote for you with logic."

"You bring up two very interesting issues, Madam. First, no I'm not an Oikonny. Andross had only one daughter and she had me. Thanks to the rules of patrimony, I ended up a Bowman. That said, the _actual _Oikonny dynasty isn't long for this world. See, there's only one left and it's why he's the default Tanist."

Andrew Oikonny was atually the least qualified – except perhaps Pigma Dengar – of all people to run the Lylat System. His approach to everything was to place more qualified people in charge as quickly as possible and spend the rest of your time looking imposing and demanding respect. Macbeth – a planet devoid of intelligent life, run completely by automated machines to fuel the Cornerian war machine – was the perfect place for him. But on Corneria, where the Emperor had to regularly deal with legislatives, councilors, soldiers, spies, and even private citizens, no. That was not the place for Andrew. He was Tanist simply by default. Not by merit.

"Well, unless we can come up with some Oikonnys out of thin air, our selection is pretty slim."

"Article 2, Section 16." Fara asked him to repeat, "Article 2, Section 16 outlines succession in the event of no _suitable dynasty members_."

"Which means if the incumbent dies without an heir, the Tanist can be selected from any blood relative regardless of dynasty." Dash smiled widely at Fara, "This means Andross would need to be missing an heir. He isn't. The clause would only apply if either Andross or Andrew were dead." _Or both would be nice_, "Besides, even if you were eligible, what makes you think you could be Emperor? Or why I would vote for you at all?"

"You said it yourself, Madam Phoenix: my record after only one year is stellar." Dash lowered his voice, "And if the Committee jumps the gun a bit and writes in someone else that's not Andrew… Andross is sure to approve the decision. Everyone knows Andrew would be a disaster."

"So you're proposing to me that if anything, you're the lesser of two evils."

"How can I prove to you I'm not evil at all, but a force for good? I also want to serve. Not just with good intentions either. But if I'm going to get anywhere with it, I need support… I need allies."

"And so to attack your cousin and seat yourself on the Throne of a Thousand Shepherds, you came to a member of the defeated Dynasty who represents a backwater moon with little to no military capability."

Dash smiled again, that conspiratorial smile Fara would come to know so well, "There are others. There are people, politicians I should say, who don't want Andrew as Emperor." These people, politicians could be anyone – opportunists, religious and ideological fanatics, Phoenix loyalists – but how could Fara trust Andross' own blood? "There's absolutely no way to sway the Tanistry Committee this year. Some of the electors will be abstaining. You should abstain as well."

"I never said I was on your side."

"I know. But you're not on Andrew's."

That much was true. Dash was smart. Sharp as a tack and actually capable. That much was clear. But could he play this game? Did he have any clue what kind of fire he was playing with? Fara's curiosity was piqued. She didn't _trust _Dash Bowman, but if he could prove to be a formidable enemy to Andrew, maybe it'd be worth considering.

Two days later, Representative Fara Phoenix abstained from voting.


	8. Caiman I

**Chapter 8: Caiman I**

_If history records any of our faults_, Caiman thought_, it's that we bothered to come here at all_. He was sitting at a table for the Kewish Security Council representing – as was unusual – the LPU. Even though Lylatians only composed of one faction on Kew III, they made up half the chamber's inhabitants. Caiman sat in the normal delegate's seat, staring across at the unhappy allies: Great Empires of variety East and West. Along with the Great Eastern and Great Western Empires, they were also aided by the Old Empire (who Great West broke away from) and the Never Empire (who challenged Great East for supremacy of the continent they shared). Finally, there was a seat leftover for the chaotic delegation of All Under Heaven.

The Lylatian side had five members that – prior to the arrival of Caiman and the First Fleet – were backwater areas. The Former Empire shared a border with Never and a tiny province of Old, but after allying with Lylat, took back that province (Caiman even wore his campaign ribbon for the Rock) and even expanded into the lands that once composed of their eponymous Former Empire.

The Formerites shared a common religion with the Duchy, which barely registered on a map. But after the introduction of Cornerian technology, came to consume half of the continent under a relatively autonomous imperial structure.

The last three of Lylat's Kewish allies lived on the very edges of civilization. One was surviving in the desert a sa resource rich aristocracy filled with aging statesmen and religious fanatics. Another was at the tail-end of a decade long famine (made prosperous and satiated by Lylatian tech) but held absolute rule over its people. The last was a Mountainous Kingdom of less than a million Kewites, until deals were made with Lylat and her immediate invasions of neighbouring areas jumped those population statistics to twenty million direct subjects, and about a billion in the neighbouring sphere of influence.

The Famine Empire and Mountain Kingdom's greatest gains were at the expense of the former government of All Under Heaven. The war still raged and Caiman's one goal today was to keep Great West and Great East from joining. Difficult considering the Lylatians now controlled AUH's most lucrative port and were busy annexing that holding into the Interstellar Free Trade Alliance.

When the history of Kew's admission to the LPU was written, Caiman would be sure to feature as a controversial figure: architect of the space-age Kew, liberator of the poor and downtrodden Kewite, war monger, weapon's smuggler, _genocidaire_.

"For starters, the illegal annexation of southern ports into Lylat's official administration is an illegal act of aggression bordering on old fashioned colonialism and war," the Heavenist delegation announced. Caiman didn't even have to press in his translator piece too hard. These sorts of comments were more or less a Kewish form of "Hello."

As the negotiations proceeded, the Famine Empire and Mountain Kingdom took a central role. It was the Mountaineers and the Not-So-Hungry that were overrunning All Under Heaven. The King of the Mountains was taking All Under Heaven's high-altitude, western Plateau while the Famine Empire was expanding into the northeastern of All Under Heaven's steppe and into the northern river valleys. It was precisely this area that Great East and Great West wanted to contest. Part of this land even contained All Under Heaven's capital city.

Caiman learned the hard way that a dark and shadowy hand was more effective than active participation. Lylatian forces had seized nearly a hundred port colonies all across Kew III. Some were cities contentious to Kewish history – so in that, Caiman removed the cause for a lot of inter-Kewish violence – while others were cities never before considered until space travel had to be planned for and adopted as a means of commerce or transportation. Seizing the most prosperous port in southern All Under Heaven meant that Lylat de facto assumed a sphere of influence directly bordering the Empires Famine and Mountain, without ever setting boot on the mainland itself.

"If we're being honest with ourselves," the Mountainous delegate began, "even the northern steppe should be under our rule since we share a common history and religion."

"Regardless of society," the Great Eastern delegate began, "current geopolitics demand that the steppe remains under our sphere of influence if the balance of power is to be maintained."

Caiman sat there looking menacing and staring down the delegation at the opposite table. The smallish character forming the face of All Under Heaven was all too silent and looked like he was losing a far more important battle than the ones on the front line. Caiman had sat through a lot of partitions of Kewish countries, but none was as painful as this.

_This will be a whole new chapter, _Caiman thought, _the partition of a Security Council Member_. In a way, this was all according to plan: divide the enemy powers, unite the Allied ones, admit Kew III to the Lylatian People's Union.

If only there wasn't so much blood.

The diplomatic posturing went on for three hours. Assistants and other enlisted Cornerians kept bringing Caiman water, forgetting that a Sharpclaw needed only minimal fluids to function. Especially on a drowned world like Kew III. After All Under Heaven was divided between Security Council Members with a tiny rump state left over, the map was signed and stamped. Caiman as the official representative of the Lylat People's Union signed first. The poor, proud, ashamed delegates of All Under Heaven signed last.

The formalities at the end were a whirlwind of handshakes and distinguished smiles. Caiman informed the diplomatic team that he was jetting off to the _Harvester _to resume his duties on ship without the necessary headache of Kewish humidity. He didn't wait long for everyone to get the message. Until nuclear weapons started getting tossed about like hot cakes, Caiman didn't see a reason to return to Kew planet-side unless it was for a shipment of Faminist soju.

The shuttle departed from the port and made the half-hour ascent and orbit to the Fleet. The _Harvester, _a modified Zeram-II, was Caiman's flagship and was almost permanently Zeram-I cruisers, a dozen Harlock frigates, and two Grazan carriers. Each ship was positioned strategically around Kew III.

Every once in a while, Caiman moved around the Fleet like pieces on a chessboard. It was a delicate game, and at the end of the day, he'd rather be marching through the Katina savannah with a shotgun and ten rounds, or flying through Area 6 dogfighting with Fox McCloud. He just needed a good excuse to take the _Harvester _out of its position in lunar orbit.

Caiman entered the deck of the _Harvester_ and all the officers rose from their station and saluted. Caiman gave the customary salute back and sat in the command chair at the center of the brightly lit room, "Let's get a status report."

The Executive Officer, a Fichinan ursine by the name of Svetskyn pulled out his tablet and began, "Yes, Admiral. For starters we have the Faminist space program that is requesting more material aid to propel construction of their lunar base."

If the Faminites get more equipment, the other four allies would expect support to build their own lunar bases. It was easy enough to stall those developments and claim more of the lunar surface directly for Lylat regardless. Kew III's moon was nothing like Papetoon. It was desolate and lifeless without an atmosphere. Terraforming efforts required technology that was still centuries from development, "Next."

"Two frigates are requiring special maintenance. The _Vengeance _and the _Justice_ both have damaged G-Diffusers. I believe _Vengeance_'s is too old – dating from the Saurian Civil War – while _Justice _is the result of mechanical failure."

"Do we have the spare parts readily available?"

"No. They'd have to head back to Lylat for repairs."

"Doesn't seem like we have a choice. Where are _Justice _and _Vengeance _positioned?"

"_Vengeance _over Area 16, _Justice _over Area 59."

Those were directly over central provinces of Great East and Great West. Moving them would send the wrong signal to Kewish governments, "Send a message to CenCom. Tell them we need a transfer to make repairs on two frigates without compromising our diplomatic position."

"Sure thing, sir."

"What's next?"

"Great West's space agency requested that we investigate some mysterious data they had coming in from the Asteroid Belt."

"Mysterious data?"

Svetskyn clicked a few icons on his tablet to move what he was seeing into Caiman's console. What appeared was a long set of numbers beside a satellite image that showed little more than a field of asteroids. The enemy's space agency was kind enough to circle the mystery on the image: a strange dot that moved with bizarre rapidity and pulsing motions on the side of an almost planetary asteroid.

"What is it?"

"They don't know. They're asking us to check it out because their telescopic tests are inconclusive."

"Where is this?" Caiman wondered if they could just turn their own telescopes on the anomaly and solve the mystery.

"Opposite side of Kew. The satellite that took this photo is over by Kew VI. They bounced the signal off a Neverite satellite over here by Kew IV." Of course they couldn't just turn their telescopes in that direction. There was a star in the way. Still, the _Harvester _hadn't broken orbit for almost two years. There was certainly a silver lining to this arrangement.

"How far are we?"

"From?"

"From the anomaly."

"About two day's ride on interplanetary speeds."

"Let's take the old girl out. She's been sitting pretty for a few months. I think she deserves a stroll. Inform the other captains and make sure that message gets back to Corneria. _Vengeance _and _Justice _should be replaced when we get back."

"What should we tell the Kewish?"

"We're taking care of it."


	9. Fox III

**Chapter 9: Fox III**

He stared at what was left of his Arwing. It was a collection of parts. Well. That's what it always was, just now all those parts were disassembled into a loosely connected pile, like so many puzzle pieces spilled out on the floor, "You did all of this in an hour?"

"It wasn't hard." She was buried in the Arwing's engine, only her legs and tail sticking out, "Half the parts were corroded or rotted through." She dug her head out of the engine and held out a new piece she'd managed to rip out, "You know your gravity fabric had _six _tears in it?"

"I patched them."

"Patches are only temporary. A quarter lifespan of the fabric itself. You had six beyond repair. Eight is considered a catastrophic failure. You _must _be noticing some heavy shaking when you hit air."

He sighed and said, in as detached a way as possible, "Yeah, I do."

"Well, those are the most likely culprits. Your air filter was black, I replaced it. Most likely all those trips to Eladard. You had some... thing growing in the engine. A lot of it was singed around the propulsion vent but..."

"Look, I don't need a whole diagnostic check. I just want to go."

"Look," she mocked, "I'm shocked you got anywhere in this thing, never mind flew around the Lylat System. So let me do my job and fix this thing so you don't literally fall out of the sky."

He didn't say anything. She wandered back over to the pile of parts and resumed working.

"When do you think you'll be done?"

"Try asking a painter when it's done. I'm an artist, Fox. It'll be done when it's done."

"You'd be terrible in a war."

"That's not what you said last time."

"Last time?"

"On Sauria. When you hid out in the village and I helped clean your weapons."

"Huh." He hadn't made the connection, "Well there's something a bit different from field stripping a weapon to rebuilding an Arwing."

She stuck her head out from behind the engine, "You don't remember me, do you?"

The look she gave him was a mixture of expectant pain and pity.

"I don't remember a lot. Don't take it personally."

"I'm really happy I got to watch you these past couple of days. It made you fall a little bit. In _my _eyes, at least." She removed herself and went back to the ship.

Fox said nothing. Just turned away and picked up a piece of his broken ship. He thought of Peppy: if you take everything out of the ship and put new pieces inside, is it still the same ship? He dropped it on the ground with a loud _clang_.

"Why don't you just enjoy your forced vacation while you don't have a choice?"

The conversation seemed over. He left the hangar and decided there was at least beer in the mess. When was the last time he had a _vacation_, so to speak? He walked down the spine of the _Fox_, finding the mess entirely empty but not at all how he remembered it. Bright sunlights on timers illuminated the large planters filled with growing vegetables.

He leaned close to one and touched a pepper plant with chillies not quite ready to harvest.

"I built it myself."

Fox turned. Lucy was standing in the doorway holding a tablet and a folder full of papers. She had deep dark circles under her eyes and – Fox noticed – large hacks taken out of her once beautiful, long ears.

"It's nice." As Fox said it, the lights dimmed simulating a sunset, "Pretty clever." Lucy set her things down at the table and moved into the kitchen, "I'm going to make some coffee. Want some?"

"No, thanks. Any beer?"

A glass tinkled out in answer. She handed it to him as he said, "Thanks." He watched her brew a cup of black stuff, "Should you really be drinking coffee? You look like you haven't slept since I last saw you."

"Yeah, that sounds about right," she smiled, "sleep's not comfortable any more. I prefer it this way."

Fox wasn't sure he wanted to know more. He took a long swig of beer. Instandtly, he recognized it as a fresh batch of _Great Fox Gray_. So Katt got the brewery working as well.

"Did you ever wonder about us?"

"Yes." He tried not to sound cold, "I'm sorry."

"I haven't even told you."

He couldn't bring himself to ask.

"Reeducation," she offered, "Six years. I don't like to sleep."

"I'm sorry," he repeated. This time dutifully. This time as if there was something he should be sorry about. "How'd you get out?"

"Gave them what they wanted. Went through so many patriotic sessions and _Mandatory Film Reeducation _that I just... yeah. I prefer to think I was just somewhere else for a while. The _real _me, I mean. The part of me that's left. Not the part they saw. That part got sacrificed so I could get out. Then I met Katt and we did..." she waved around them, "this."

Fox wished he didn't understand, but he knew the story all too well, "You have to sleep sometime."

"I do. About once a week I'm too exhausted to keep going. But Amanda has me on a vitamin regimen that keeps me healthy. Not the same, but as long as I spend at least nine or ten hours in low energy resting, I can function the rest of the time like normal."

"You've systematized insomnia."

"Down to a science."

He donned the beer in a single gulp, "How much of this stuff left?"

"Help yourself. I'm going to go read trashy romance novels in bed." She headed for the door."

Fox picked a new bottle out of the refrigerator, "Luce, I _am _sorry." He repeated.

But she was already gone.

He took two more bottles out of the fridge and walked out, finding the mess no longer tasteful. He walked up the _Fox'_s neck to the observatory above the bridge. It was perhaps the cleanest room he'd seen in the _Fox _so far. The chairs sunken into the floor and tipped toward the starlight were looking like they were replaced or refurbished.

Fox jumped down and sat loudly in one of the seats.

"Oh!" Amanda picked her head up and stared, shocked to even notice Fox there at all, "Hey, sorry, Amanda."

"It's all right."

"I didn't see you there."

"No worries. I thought you were Slippy for a second."

"Does... does he come up here?"

"Yes. I try to bring him up here. This is the only place where he acts normal: when he's here looking at the stars. He sounds like the old Slip."

"Does he... sleep?"

"Yeah. He'll get tired, lethargic, and we carry him to bed. But he has no real circadian rhythm. Well, it's there just irregular. So it's best to just let him do his thing. If he's hungry he wanders to the mess, but he's unable to cook or feed himself."

Fox offered her a beer.

"No, thanks." They sat in silence for a while and stared at the stars lazily passing, "Did you ever meet Croakella?"

"His old flame?" Yeah. Once. She visited Slip on the training facility on Papetoon."

"She's married now. Has a dozen kids."

He popped open a beer and took another long swig.

"I try and bring Slippy up here when he falls asleep. If I'm here when he wakes up, he'll often be the same toad I knew. It hurts, Fox. Watching someone you loved be someone else. Some_thing_ else."

He stared at her harshly.

"I'm sorry."

"No. You're right. To be honest, you're the first person I've talked to that honestly knows what hurts."

She stood up and walked out. She passed a hand over Fox's shoulder and paused, "I know you're not planning on staying, but stay in touch? Katt doesn't talk about it and Lucy is... busy. But maybe we can..." she didn't finish, and just left.

Fox wanted to fly away. He imagined getting in his Arwing and flying as far away as possible. There were plenty of star systems out there. Maybe he'd find one where Lylat was just a dark spot in their star charts where he could live on some temperate mudball that's just barely discovering what life is. Or maybe to Sauria. There were plenty of tribes out there. He could find one in the mountains, far from Cornerian arms, away from any real political control. He could buy himself a farm. Find himself a woman. Have a family and a simple life...

"Mind if I sit here?"

She had a plate in her hand and a smile that asked to be let in.

"I'd prefer you were fixing my ship."

"A hungry mechanic is a silly mechanic." She sat down any way and held out the plate, "Sandwich?"

He looked over at the stale bread that was still steaming from the toaster, "What's on it?"

"Protein, cheese, and onion."

He took a sandwich half and handed her a beer. She took it without commentary and they ate together in silence.

"I didn't mean it as a bad thing, you know." She said out of nowhere.

He paused before drinking, "What do you mean?"

"When I said it made you fall. That's not a bad thing."

"How is it a good thing?"

"You were my hero for a long time. It was nice to see that we're not so different."

That wasn't a word he heard quite often, "I _was your hero_?" He looked over at her in disbelief. She looked away, "Why?"

"On Sauria. You'd come back with the warriors from a raid. I remembered how you looked. Brave. Intelligent. A lot of the warriors looked up to you. We used to have all kinds of foreigners come to our village. But none of them cared. None of them saw us as equals, or even people who could learn or teach. To everyone else, we were savages in the way. You fought for us. You tried to be one of us."

"No, I didn't."

And that's when their eyes locked.

"Emerald, I was a rebel without a cause. I was alone. Tired. And cut off from anything that made sense."

"So you came to Sauria?"

"Pretty much. If you're fighting _for _something, it makes the fighting that much more meaningful."

She was silent for a long while, "Do you know what happened after you left?"

"You went and learned engineering, clearly."

"Because I'm not Krazoa Strong like my sister. Because when our tribe finally consolidated power, she was the natural Queen. Not me."

And that's when he recognized her. Behind the cerulean colored fur, the white-sun marking, the typical mechanics cargo jacket, shorts with a half-dozen tools hanging off it, he recognized her as that pre-teen girl on Sauria. The one that happily cleaned his weapon and imagine herself as a gun-toting Cornerian sniper and not a girl in a backwater tribe who was supposed to learn medicine and childcare, "You taught a whole generation of us that we should be proud to be Cerinian. You don't realize how powerful that was."

She finished the beer and tapped it against the edge of the chair, "Whatever your end up doing after this, I hope you can find some peace or purpose. I know you're just toying to fly around until your Arwing falls out of the sky, but you mean a lot to a lot of people." She stood up and started to walk out. She let a hand rest on his shoulder for just a second, "Especially me."

Fox sat there for a minute longer and stared into the blackness. He stood and asn't quite sure what he was doing. He left the observatory and walked down the _Fox_'s neck to Katt's room. After a brief pause, he knocked twice.

Katt opened the door. She looked defeated and tired. Fox probably woke her up from lying wide-eyed and sleepless in her bed, "What's up?" she asked, as if it was a normal day, and they lived all this time across the hall from each other.

"I was doing some thinking."

"Oh yeah?" she yawned.

"Yeah... I think I'm going to stay."

Her face lit up, the dark bags under her eyes dissipated, and she had a hint of a smile, "That's good."

"I'll let you get some rest."

"You should, too."

"Thanks, I will." She closed the door and Fox went down to the mess. He pulled out two more bottles of beer and stared out at the stars.


	10. Krystal I

**Chapter 10: Krystal I**

She'd just arrived back at Krazoa Palace amidst a halstorm of rumors: the Xikibki murdered someone, a faction at court has taken him prisoner, the boy's father gathered an angry mob to storm the Palace grounds.

Hite begged her to let him go first and inspect the area before she left the ship.

"Absolutely not," she said, "I won't listen to rumors. I listen to facts." Yet, she was alarmed. Removing Zamo from her safety and control wouldn't endanger the _whole _system.

She sat in meditation trying to reach her son, or one of the court telepaths. She needed information, but there was none to be had. _Don't succumb to fear, it will cloud your judgment. _Still, there was a huge block to her communication with the Palace. The telepaths might have done that on purpose, to defend the Palace from psychic attacks. Still, it was disconcerting.

The ship docked and was immediately greeted by a dozen courtiers. At the head of them was Wudtod Khafu looking as calm as ever.

She marched down the causeway and did away with the formalities as he began to greet her, "Bxod..."

"Where is my son?"

"He is being held under guard at the Bastion, Bxodte." She immediately marched past him with Hite and another pair of Jootag behind her. Khafu followed trying to explain, "Please, there's no need to worry. He is there with Scoria and has every care and amenity."

"Why did it happen at all?"

"We're still working on the _why_."

"_Why _is he being held like a prisoner?" she demanded. They were now ascending the stairs to the Palace's ultra-secure central tower.

"For his own safety, Bxodte."

"Wait in my study," she turned to shoot him a brief look. He stopped in his tracks and bowed before turning away. The Jootag followed her, "Clear out this entire floor," she said, and they went to work making sure only the Bxodte, the Xikibki, and their approved courtiers were allowed on the floor. She knocked at the grand pair of elaborately decorated doors and waited just a moment before Scoria opened them. She gave a short bow, "Bxodte."

Krystal pushed past her and into the room. She'd never been here before and was pleasantly surprised at the room's spaciousness and comfort. There was a set of epic windows staring out into the ocean, and looking down onto the rest of the solid walls of their impenetrable fortress. He had a bed with silk sheets, a bookshelf that bordered on the gaudy, plush chairs that might make a peasant weep, and a small back room that led to a kitchen Scoria used.

She saw him sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed. He was dressed in court robes and jewelry, looking entirely pitiful, but alive and well. Krystal rushed to his side and dropped to the floor, "Zamo!" she cupped his head in her hand and began stroking his ear, "Are you all right?"

"There's a hypercane coming," he said.

She looked out over the ocean. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, "How do you know?"

"I just know," he said.

She put a hand on his chin and turned it toward her face, "My Prince, what happened?"

He tried to look away and just uttered, "I don't know." She saw in his eyes that he had recollection, memories of some terrible things that happened, but no real knowledge. Of that, she could tell instantly that he was honest. She kissed him on the forehead and said to him, "You're safe here, all right? Don't be afraid. Don't even think of them out there. Focus on just being here."

She kissed him again and addressed Scoria, "Deny him nothing." She left and ordered Hite, "Let no one up here without my permission. Do not hesitate to kill those who disobey."

He bowed, "Yes, Bxodte."

She moved quickly to her study where Wudtod Khafu was waiting for her along with Zexd. The two of them existed in what seemed like détente with Zexd standing on the edge of the room looking out the window and Khafu sitting in a chair by the table, "You look like squabbling children."

Khafu stood and bowed, "My apologies, Bxodte."

"Sit."

Zexd bowed low and sat next to Khafu. Krystal walked over to the desk and stood behind it, "Now. Explain this to me."

The two advisors stared at each other for a long second and then back at Krystal, "Well," Zexd began, "we... we can't explain it very well."

She looked to Wudtod Khafu, "Why not?"

"None of us saw what happened."

Krystal was shocked, "Why not?" She said each word as if it was its own sentence.

"The Xikibki wanted to play with the other children."

She slammed her hands on the desk, "_You were supposed to be watching him!_"

They sat still as stone.

She threw up her hands and covered her face. When she'd stifled her tears she said calmly, "What _do _you know?"

"We know a boy is dead. A plumber's boy." Wudtod Khafu said, "His Father is rallying the workers to strike. They see the Palace as responsible for the boy's death... we've locked down the building."

"You didn't tell her about the children," Zexd mentioned. He was quiet except for that oddly calm voice he used to explain things that upset her mind's apple cart.

"What children?"

"The other children he was playing with." Khafu admitted, "What we know is that Rha Zamo was playing a game with the children. They ran out of the courtyard they were playing in screaming that a boy has died and the Xikibki fell. The guards quickly seized the Xikibki and the dead boy and brought them to the Palace."

"You have the dead boy?"

"Yes."

"And the children?"

"Were not taken."

"They're the only witnesses." Zexd confirmed.

"Not the only ones..." She demanded to be taken to the corpse which was in one of the Palace's secret chambers held under guard. When she saw him, Krystal remembered the boy vaguely. His name was Manu, and had he lived, he might have been in charge of the Palace sewers. But he didn't, and she needed to know why.

She put her hands on the boy's head and closed her eyes. The boy was dead. She couldn't talk to him as she might if he were a coma patient or a mute, but she could access the gray matter inside his head and see what he saw. She felt the life leave her body, and a blinding flash of light suddenly dimmed to reveal the ceilinged court and Zamo standing in front of her with the ball in his hand. They were playing _War_, a popular children's game. And then she heard Manu's voice. The way he taunted Zamo, resented him. But the words that stuck in her ears weren't Manu's, they were Zamo's: "_Drop dead!" _

She saw time progress backwards. The conflict whispered away and it became a normal children's game stopped suddenly with Zamo's presence and then his sudden disappearance from the scene.

Krystal took her hands off his head and looked around. Zexd seemed deeply disturbed by the whole affair. Khafu only expectant.

"There's no question... that Zamo is to blame."

"What did you see?" Khafu asked.

"All he did... was command him to die. I've never seen anything like it."

"Oh this..." he drifted off as if to consult a library that was filled with more dust than books, and he were searching for just the right tome to answer a particular question, "is not without precedence."

"It's not?"

"The First Xikibki had the ability to command matter and life, as did the Great Thirteenth. The Twenty-Second was said to possess a little of this ability. This is what made him such a great healer."

"I didn't... _my father_?"

"Yes, and all of them had one thing else in common." He waited to see if any of them knew what he was going to say. When neither Krystal nor Zexd responded, "_Kadw_."

"No." Zexd's response was almost immediate, "That's not an option."

"It must be." Khafu insisted, "Kadw is a safe place for him to learn and develop these dangerous powers of his. No one here on Sauria can train him."

"_Safe_? It is _the exact opposite_. People _do not _return from Kadw. They die there. Or they become lost."

"Spoken like a true apostate. Kadw is dangerous to the secure and secure to those in danger. Only the adaptable can survive. Indeed, they don't simply survive, they flourish. The Kichi who returned from there _bloom_."

"And if he doesn't? What then? What will you say should we wait and he never return?"

"There will always be a Xikibki." What he meant, what Krystal heard, was: _we will then wa__it__ for the Twenty-Fourth Xikibki._

"Enough!" She commanded, "You're asking me to lose how many years of my son's life? Perhaps all of it."

"The Xikibki belongs neither to himself nor to you, Bxodte. He is the collective guardian energy of the Cerinian people."

She walked a short distance away and then turned and put her hands down against the stone where the dead boy lay, "Arrange for a special session of the court. Bring the boy's father." They bowed and left. She stayed longer, staring at the dead Manu. She stared so long that his face morphed into something else entirely and became both Zamo and not. And that frightened her most of all.

An hour later the great hall was packed with the entire population of the tiny island. Krystal, in full court regalia and robes, sat on her throne and had Zexd and Wudtod Khafu on either side. Zamo's throne was noticeably empty but his hat sat at the small table next to it. Everyone noticed. No one spoke.

Hite announced that the court was now in session and that the court immediately recognized Assistant Master of the Pipes Terol Debu. Before he had even finished speaking, Terol Debu stepped forward and shouted, "The Xikibki killed my son!"

That sparked an uproar. The crowd of lower-caste workers on the island began screaming and shouting in an incoherent cacophony. And the only word Krystal could distinguish was _justice. _

Krystal held up her hand and silence immediately descended, "I can feel your pain." She said, "Do you believe me on that?"

Slowly, with tears in his eyes, the graying plumber nodded, "I do, Bxodte."

"Then you must also understand that I have seen your son and saw what he saw in his last moments, and all I can offer is my deepest condolences for your loss." She turned slightly and addressed the crowd, "My son is possibly the greatest telepath seen since the height of our civilization. Of that, I am now certain. He is not simply the embodiment of the Krazoa, but he is intensely gifted. We might even go so far as to suggest that he might be cursed with these gifts for a reason we do not yet understand."

"My son is still dead," Terol sobbed.

"And he will be given all the proper rites befit someone above his station. Your family will want for nothing. It is all I can give."

"And the murderer?"

"Guard your tongue!" Hite said, his hand on the hilt of his blade.

She held up her hands again, "It's fine," she said calmly, "I beg you for understanding in your grief, Terol. My son is scared of the sacred powers inside of him. He doesn't understand them or know how to control them."

"And which of us is next?" someone from the mob called out, with a chorus of agreement and approval.

"No one," Krystal announced, "we have found a proper Cumu for the Xikibki. One who can teach him to focus his energies and control them without hurting people, even using them to help our nation."

"Who is this Cumu?"

"I wish I could tell you," she said, "but that is a name I cannot give. Please, this is a time of great intensity and spiritual challenge for us all. Let us have charity for one another." She then made sure to issue a bottle of ukuu from the Palace distillery to every village house, along with a kilo of salted meat from their stockpiles. And then, without further questions or requests, the court was adjourned.

Krystal turned to her advisors and said, "I hope you will not begrudge me my last night with my son. Tomorrow morning we can send him through the Portal." Hite escorted her back to the Bastion and they entered the room to find Scoria serving Zamo a meal. Hite closed the door behind them, "May I serve you as well?" Scoria asked.

"Yes," Krystal confirmed, "Set places for all of us." And they ate like a family, ignoring the strange world outside their Palace filled with politics and violence.

When all of the food was eaten, Krystal turned to Zamo and said, "I need to tell you something very important."

He didn't miss a beat, "Did I kill Manu?"

She paused, "Yes."

"I didn't mean to."

"We know," she responded, "But that's why we need to send you away. It's not your fault. But you'll be in a place that's safe. A place where you will learn more than anyone who has ever lived."

"How?"

"I don't know." She said, "I've never been there."

"Where is it?"

"It's a planet called Kadw. On another quadrant of the galaxy. The whole planet was reserved to the Krazoa, it's where the first of our ancestors were taught to be Krazoa Strong, to create the will of the Krazoa here."

"Is it a good place?"

"It can be. Time works very differently there. To you it may seem like you are gone for years, but for me it may be only days." She thought of that again, how she would lose him. Lose Zamo's whole childhood and have only memories to sustain her.

He was quiet, and didn't eat much., even after Scoria brought out the keranpang for desert. She wanted to tell him to enjoy it, because she was certain that there was no sweet breads on Kadw, but she didn't know for sure. Nor was she able to bring herself to say it. Krystal was relieved when Zamo finally took a bite, but it turned sour when it was clear he wouldn't take another. Hite then played the part of the father, "Are you going to eat that?" The answer was obviously _no_, but Zamo clearly wanted the possibility of eating it. Hite took it without an answer and almost put it in his mouth. Zamo jumped onto him to defend his dessert and screamed with boyish delight. They played like that for sometime, and although Krystal would have liked for them to stay up all night, she insisted that Zamo sleep early. All four of them got in the bed and held each other as they slept in a great pile. Only Krystal didn't sleep, knowing that the last thing Fox ever gave her would leave her in the morning.

Before the dawn broke to a storm-filled and frightening morning, Krystal was up and woke Scoria so she would make a hearty breakfast. She woke Zamo only when it was ready and they all waited apart as Zamo ate alone. Hite provided him with a Jootag tunic and a small empty bag. Just as the sun rose, she knew it was time. She pulled him out the door and walked with Scoria and Hite following, Zamo in between them. Zexd and Wudtod Khafu met them at the first basement level. There was a whole series of large, ornate doors. Some were useless, others dangerous. Only the one at the very end of the hall was of any real use.

There at the end of the hall in ancient Cerinian glyphs were the difficult-to-decipher, but absolutely there words: **KADW**_. _The door was gargantuan, perfectly square, and had an intricate geometric design with a small white sun at the base. At the center of the sun was a keyhole. Krystal took the staff from her belt, extended it to its full length, and closed her eyes. The bottom end of the weapon slid into the keyhole without resistance. She used what power she had to affix the staff's shape to the key – it was a lot of energy for such an ancient door – and turned. The door shrunk away from the staff, and its many layers shifted away from them until they all turned and disappeared, revealing an alien landscape that was both ten steps, and billions of light years away. It was a deep, dark forest with trees that seemed like the evil step children of mushrooms and spruce, shrouded in a blue mist that ate whatever it touched. Zamo looked back at her and then at the landscape he was expected to venture into alone.

She held back tears and offered the only encouragement she could imagine, "I love you."

Her son took the steps to another star system. He didn't look back.

Just as Krystal regret this decision and was about to call out, the door reappeared and shut.


	11. Miyu I

**Chapter 11: Miyu I**

To avoid conflict with the military, the civilians were given large stipends to live in the village adjacent to the research site. Bora was a relatively nice village. It had its colonial charms which was certainly more than could be said of most of Corneria, but it was also too small, which led to run-ins with military personnel.

She woke up, dressed, and went down to the hotel lobby. Her initial thought was to go to the Cerinian tea house at the end of the street for breakfast, but she decided against it. She looked just out the hotel's doors and saw Cornerian soldiers off duty cheering and whooping for their day off. One of them she recognized, and it was him that made her choose the hotel diner for her breakfast, assuming that minor task was difficult to ruin for a place like this. She took out her tablet and started going over the day's data readings.

"I thought you might be here." Dr. Doa's casual dress, a long sleeve shirt with no tie and a pair of black denim, contrasted with his Cerinian-blue fur.

"What gave you that impression?" She didn't look up.

"Half the base is on leave. It's Summer Solstice soon, so pick your respective religion and celebrate accordingly." He sat down and looked at the menu for only a moment before calling over the waiter, "Eggs, toast, and strawberry jam, please. _Karzic_-brand hot sauce if you have any."

"As you know, Dr. Doa, I'm not religious. I choose to imagine that all phenomena have rational, explainable, and ultimately simple explanations." She looked up, and her eyes caught the necklace hanging into the curve of his neckline: three, inter-locking, iron-tasting triangles.

"Of course," Doa explained, "As a scientist I agree with you, but with your degree in sociology, you must know that religion is about something much deeper than just a primitive form of science."

"I don't know that, Dr. Doa."

"Please, call me Dwic."

"I prefer Dr. Doa."

The waitress came with their meals and they began eating. Miyu dug carefully into her eggs and spread them lightly on the black bread. Dwic took a slice of toast and spread so much red jam on it that the bread sagged from the weight, and dripped back onto his plate. One of the eggs, sunny side up, he put on the other slice and bit into, sending yolk flowing down his muzzle and fingers. He swallowed, "So how will you be spending your Solstice then, Dr. Lynx?"

"Please," she said coldly, "Call me Miyu." She took another bite, "I'll be taking a hot bath, open a thick book, and pour myself a whole bottle of red wine, and then end the day with trashy import dramas and drunkenly calling my ex."

"A time honored ritual if ever there was one." Dwic wiped his face and hands, "There's a ritual cleansing, a series of narratives both in sacred script and presentation, the imbibing of a blood-themed sacrament, and finally the kindling of romance."

She dropped her fork at the word _romance_, "Let's talk about _your _Solstice plans."

He put down his food and wiped his mouth, "Church in the morning, a long walk in the fields to enjoy the longest sun of the year, find an outdoor café for lunch and do some reading, possibly see a movie at the drive-in later, enjoy a beer at sunset, call my wife. So, pretty much the same as your schedule."

"Let's talk about your wife."

"I'd rather not."

She ignored his resistance, "You married a Cornerian?"

"Naturally."

"Why is that natural? You grew up on Sauria, correct?"

"I went to school at Corneria University. It makes more sense that I married there."

"And in the process you lost your accent."

"I grew up surrounded by Cornerian traders and at a missionary school."

"Lost your tribal religion."

"Was saved by grace from paganism."

"And tried to distance yourself as far from your origins as possible."

"Not true. I haven't shaved."

"Nor have you turned against certain dietary customs." The image of yellow and red dripping down his face and hands gave Miyu a slight shiver, "Nor concubinage."

"I don't have one."

"A Cornerian equivalent."

"If I'm attempting to shed myself of a Cerinian past, why is it I study Saurian history and Cerinian artifacts? You're not being fair."

"On the contrary. To distance yourself from anything, it should be sterilized and studied. The passion of an academic is not the same as that of a believer. Artists vs. art historian. Philosopher vs. theologian."

"And which are you?"

She finished her glass of juice and regret her half-finished coffee, "I'm late."

Dwic followed her and outside they received a taxi that took them to the edge of the facility. There was a long electrified fence that covered a thousand acres of mostly barren scrub with a small barracks and a single-story building with a set of simple offices. There was a runway and a set of aircraft under a short hangar. At the gatehouse they showed their identification and paid the taxi. A few moments later, a jeep arrived, picked up the two researchers and drove them to the facility where their clearance passes were flashed one more time and they surrendered their comm links. Inside they were led to the laboratory: a gray room with a dozen computer screens and scale models of the relic. The one that Miyu liked, the one that was accused of frivolity and ridiculousness was the one made of tiny plastic toy blocks. She'd told her colleagues that she liked them because they made sense to her. She used to play with them as a child to the point that her parents couldn't manage to separate her from them. Sentimentality was a foreign language to Dr. Doa, but Dr. Powalski had a distinct appreciation for the mysterious patterns of the brain and its processes, "My trouble with your model, Dr. Lynx, is that it is too limited. The blocks have a finite flexibility and ability to replicate reality." He said, "It's not supposed to be an accurate representation of reality. It's supposed to help me think."

"Good morning, Dr. Powalski." Miyu said. Leon was sitting back in a chair tapping a pen to his snout. He was staring at a screen full of numbers.

"Good morning, Dr. Lynx. Dr. Doa," he responded absentmindedly.

"Did you sleep?" Dwic asked.

"Just enough." He didn't take his eyes off the screen, "Come look at this." They obeyed and stood behind Leon's chair looking at the screen. It was a chart of energy output based on the artifact in the lower chamber of the ruins. Whatever artifact was hidden behind a mysterious door that had a key they couldn't locate. The energy output from the door was almost always steady, hovering on a scale from zero to thirty at around an eight, rising to a ten-point-five and then falling in a two week "pulse." But when Leon was staring at was an anomaly in the artifact's regular output.

"Oh my God..." Miyu leaned in, shocked to see at 4:47 this morning the energy output of the artifact jumped from it's average of nine to twenty-six, staying there for thirty seconds before falling back to fifteen and then staying there.

"What does this mean?" Dwic asked.

"It means one of three things." Leon turned in his chair toward them, "Either one: we are witnessing some sort of long term pulsing coming from inside the artifact. Or two: something has changed an we just witnessed a shift in the artifact's behavior. Or three..." He trailed off.

"What's the third option?" Miyu asked.

Leon looked up at her as if he suddenly remembered he was in a room with other people, "Or three: we witnessed or are witnessing anomalous behavior in the artifact." He swiveled around and stared again at the data on the screen, "Might you have any insight on this, Dr. Doa?"

He seemed alarmed to be even asked, "Me? No. Nothing. I can try consulting my library for any..."

"Yes, why don't you do that."

Dwic turned and left the room. Leon turned in his chair once more to Miyu, "What am I missing?"

Leon always scared her. Not actively, but passively. It was in the cadence of his voice. The slow deliberate movements he made when handling a cup of coffee as preciously as a stack of number-filled papers. She'd heard rumors about her project leader, but the rumors always seemed to be more wish fulfillment and camp-talk than reality. Whatever rumors she heard always had the ability to unnerve her regardless. It wasn't your garden variety _He's seen some serious shit_. Miyu was once a soldier. She reminded herself that she was not one to judge, "I don't know."

He stood and started to leave the laboratory, "I think we should run some tests. Meet me down at the site in ten minutes." He left the lab and entered the elevator.

Miyu walked out and followed the path to Dr. Doa's office. When she moved to open the door, it was locked. She knocked. After a long moment, the door slid open. Dr. Doa's office space was half the size of the lab, and was surrounded by wall-to-wall bookshelves. There was a long table in the center with open books and copies of manuscripts and photos of the artifact. Dwic had his own scale model of the complex, this one printed out in a series of inter-connected pieces made from other scans. Dwic was standing over the edge of the table with his hand over a closed book, "Dr. Lynx."

Miyu closed the door behind her and flipped the lock, "I thought we'd agreed not to keep secrets from each other."

"What gave you that idea?" Dwic took his hand off the book and walked over to the window, staring out into the facility. The site was the tip of a pyramidal temple that was being excavated by archeology students on their mil-ed scholarships. A few years ago, that was Miyu. The bricks all had a dark blue hue, and carried carvings that were obviously trademarks of classical Cerinian Civilization.

"We're not."

"You are." She walked over to see what book he was looking at moments ago and was slightly surprised to see it was his own book: _The History of the Lylat System: Volume IV: Sauria_. It had hundreds of notes and tags sticking out of the pages and hinting at everything from minor mistakes to correct in the third edition, to patterns he was watching for their research, "I'd like to think I know you better than that."

He inhaled deeply and then sighed, "It's nothing."

"No it's not."

"Just a hunch."

She walked over to where he was sitting and leaned against the window in such a way that her modest bra size was exaggerated and her ears flipped downward in a suggestively submissive gesture, "Dwic..." she said softly, "You can tell me." She hated being this person. Hated having to accentuate a part of herself that was so minimal, so incidental to her identity that it barely made sense with context.

"I told you... I don't even know."

"Tell me anyway." She rested a hand on his. He turned ever slightly toward her.

"There's some ancient myths. That's all they are, myths."

"And what's in these myths?"

He moved over to the book and opened it almost directly to a temple fresco. A blue-furred Cerinian with a white sun emblazoned on his chest. In one hand he held a golden staff that had one end in flame and one end covered in ice. In the other had he held nine stars in a vertical ascension. His body was covered in white markings. A few of which she recognized: the face stripes for the Jootag, the arm bands of the Cuej, the shoulder sun for the Cerinian. He had three crowns on his head: one made of lotus petals, another made of Bafomdad ears, and a third made of skulls. His eyes glowed ghostly white.

Dwic pointed to the stars in his left hand, "These."

"The stars."

"They are supposed to be literal. The Kichi teach that these are physical star systems built by Vipa, the son of the gods."

This shocked her out of her seductress ruse, "That's... unique."

"It is. Classical Cerinian civilization claims it was once spread over nine star systems with Cerinia being the center of the system." He pointed to the seventh star down, "This is supposed to be Lylat."

"This is a civilization that didn't understand the wheel until two generations ago. How could they possibly..."

"They can't." Dwic was fast to dismiss that possibility, "It's pagan superstition. But spend five minutes with any Kichi and you'll be fed all sorts of evidence that Cerinian civilization may not be technologically advanced, but psychically centuries beyond Corneria."

"More pagan superstition?"

"More like cultural exaggeration."

"So they_ are _psychically advanced?"

"I guess that's a matter of opinion. Cerinians place a high emphasis on mind-over-matter. Anyone of even minor importance – from Kichis to shamans to village healers – are expected to spend an extended amount of time in meditation. While they may say some... absurd things, there's a level of their presence, all of it mental that is hard to deny or quantify."

They stared at each other silently.

"So..." Miyu started, "so what you're saying is that Cerinian lore holds that an ancient founder of the Cerinian people psychically constructed entire star systems so his people could live there? And that this is currently where we live? And that the artifact has something to do with this story?"

"Studying history is all about reading through historical documents to decipher actual meaning. When ancient peoples write about sicknesses and growths, we consult biologists for information on plagues and cancer. When monks record the gods shaking the earth, we find evidence for earthquakes."

"So what do you see in this energy pulse?"

Dr. Doa was silent for a long time, "I don't know."

"The Cerinians were clearly space-borne before us. This temple didn't just appear here."

"The Sharpclaw brought them here. They were space-faring well before anyone else."

She groaned, "You and Leon agreed on that. I didn't." She looked at the photo in the book, and then at a photo of the artifact Dwic had just lying on the table, "What does this all have to do with the anomaly in the artifacts energy output?"

"Like I said: just a hunch."


	12. Peppy II

**Updates: **To keep the Appendix at the end, yet update the story regularly (I ran into an awkward issue when I uploaded Chapter 11: Miyu I) I'm going to upload the new chapter after the Appendix, and then move it to its proper place when the subsequent chapter is uploaded. Just wanted to let everyone know.

And yes, Miyu is the last introduction chapter. The rest of the chapters are all POV characters we've already met.

Finally, just wanted to give a shout out to readers from the Republic of Korea. Hit me up.

* * *

**Chapter 12: Peppy II**

The guards didn't like it when he exercised. They thought Peppy was big and scary enough without adding more and more muscles onto his bulging frame. They didn't seem to mind when he meditated even though to Peppy, that was clearly the more dangerous activity. Most of the _Silence _only woke up at the sound of a horrifying buzzer. Peppy's body acclimated to wake up hours earlier so he could hang from the upper bars of his cell and do curls, or pull ups, or push ups while holding his body vertically, or planks. He imagined talking to James, _Did we ever look this fit? And on a seafood diet? _

But meditation was a lot more strenuous of an activity. The workouts became his personal training for the physical labor the _Silence _thrived on. For a while, his mental exercises only involved clearing his mind. He would transcend the _Silence_, his cell, the awful seafood, the terror, and conditions. He would remove himself from Aquas and the Lylat System as a whole. He would pass beyond Lucy and Vivian, and James and Fox, and even Peppy. It took a long time to get there. Years of practice and frustration. The physical exercise seemed to help this process along. More than once, and now regularly, he envisioned breaking stones in the mines as another meditation. Each stone broken into halves and shards was another facet of himself that he was breaking and discarding.

And one morning it happened. He knew, instinctively, that if he reacted too intensely, the experience would dissolve and he would be back below the surface of Aquas.

The creature sitting before him had a long snout, and shaggy blue fur. He looked ancient and new. As if he was not bound by the same temporal rules as the rest of them. He was sitting on a great rock ledge also with his eyes half-closed and in deep emptying of thought. Behind him was the dark and misty forest. Surrounding Peppy was mist and white, no forest.

"Hello." He said. Peppy noticed he had no white tribal markings. His fur was an unbroken sea of cerulean blue.

"Hello," Peppy responded, "What may I call you?"

"Cumu. That is all."

_Teacher_. He didn't want an identity. Maybe didn't have one, "Where are you?"

"The crucible. A different one. One that is not bound by the rules of your Lylat. I was ancient when you were born and I will die watching your birth."

These kinds of riddles were for philosophy students. Not for meditators, "Why are we communicating?"

"Because even though we are light-eons away, our fates will soon collide. I have already experienced it. I promise you, it is terrifying, and wondrous."

The alarm rang with a shattering buzz that didn't so much as break Peppy's concentration, as fool him into opening his eyes fully. The forest disappeared into the wall of his cell and guards were rattling the bars of his cage with a baton, "Wake up, rats!"

All of their doors rolled open to a chorus of mechanisms and they filed out of their cells and into the cafeteria yard where they received "breakfast." Peppy fell in line three spaces behind someone he'd never seen before. He was wearing the white jumpsuit that the _Silence_'s prisoners were all forced to wear but had black fur, and a scar on the back of his head devoid of fur. He held himself up in a manner that was not quite normal for the _Silence_. Most prisoners had a type of hunch and gait that was leaning to their weak side. As if in the absence of a hammer, the body is forced to compensate and be off balance. Instead, the stranger walked even, with his shoulders square and balanced.

Today's breakfast was ground crawdad mash dredged up from the ocean floor that morning. The black feline received a tray and held it in front of one of the staff that scooped a serving onto the slab of cheap plastic.

He held out the tray, "One more."

There was a tense pause. They never offered more food no matter what and the prisoners never even asked. It was a bit of a question mark as to what the proper response would be. Had it been anyone else, the server might have just told the new joy to screw off, or go find a restaurant, or if he'd like fries with that as well. But it was then that Peppy caught the side of his face. He had a vicious smile that bared fangs and promised tragedy. A shadow, helped along by the blackness of his fur, was permanently stitched onto his face accompanied along a scar that ran from his eye down to his chin, barely missing his eye.

The server reached out the spoon and put a half-spoonful of raw shrimp mash onto his plate.

He nodded and said, as unforgiving as possible, "Thank you." He took his tray onward.

Just as he was walking away, Peppy heard the inmate behind the new guy say, "Get a hold of the big shot."

Three things could have happened: either the newcomer could have kept moving, he could have made a snide remark, or he could have started a fight.

The black feline whipped around without warning and smashed his tray against his nose, breaking it in a bloody fog that ended with the canine smashing his hand against the rail and dropping to the floor. The newcomer, crushing shrimps and shells beneath his feet stepped forward and smashed his foot into his adversary's ribs. He threw the tray down on his head for good measure.

He got in all of that by the time the guards finally moved in and took him down. They beat the feline between the shoulder blades and twisted his arms uncomfortably behind his head. All before activating cuffs around his wrists to the hoots and cheers of the _Silence_'s residents.

Peppy adjusted to get a better view. Even though half of his face was being smashed into spilled shrimp, he was smiling, staring up at Peppy. The guards pulled him to his feet and led him on a march (again, amidst the chorus of prison voices all in express approval) out of the cafeteria ground and presumably to solitary confinement. The newcomer kept his eye fixed on Peppy, up until a guard pushed his head and he was dragged out of sight.

One of the guards above them along the scaffolding sounded an air horn as a signal to restore order and the prisoners reacted. A small medic crew rushed in to remove the bleeding prisoner.

Ten minutes later, order was restored and Peppy was sitting at his usual table, staring off into space as he spooned tasteless shrimp mash into his mouth.

He heard Skinny P, "I think his name..."

"... clearly, ex-military..."

"... the look on his face."

Peppy's mind was fixated on the morning's events. _Cu-mu_. He lolled the word around his tongue silently a few times and considered going to church as a child. The Priests always seemed more concerned with morality than spirituality. There was always a counter-culture on every planet that supported more investigation into the non-physical nature of reality, but he was wholly unprepared for this. Fox had a Cerinian girlfriend during the war, one that supplied valuable intelligence during some of their more pressing engagements. If only he'd talked to her more.

"... Panther."

"What do you think, Pep?"

He turned, "What?"

"What do you think of that new guy, Panther?"

"Is that his name?" Peppy looked down to spoon out more of his weak sea crawler sludge. There was a twitch of movement, and when he managed to move over enough gray mash, he saw a tiny shrimp emerge and start to crawl over the pulpy remains of his comrades. Peppy picked up the little guy with his spoon and brought him to eye level, "We get his type every so often. They don't last long, you know. They either disappear, or they become someone else. Someone docile." He put the shrimp on the floor and watched it crawl away into the wide unknown of the prison.

His second theory for why the _Silence_ existed where and how it did was that the Oikonny family was looking for something. The prison was arranged as an enormous complex in the center of a great hollowed out cave. Tunnels ran like the legs of a spider outward in each direction. The _Silence _was so large, there was even a tiny metro that shuttled mining equipment down the tunnels as necessary. But as a form of punishment, that job was more often reserved for Saurian prisoners who were physically unable to swing a hammer – the Earthwalkers like Prince Torriki, for example.

Everyone of the miner-prisoners was told to keep a look out for any stone out of the ordinary. This led to the shut down of Tunnel Northwest. They had apparently unearthed some kind of archway that required delicate digging out and a team of archaeologists to be shipped to Aquas. Working in TNW was offered to particularly well behaved prisoners. Peppy was a model prisoner, but his status as _Enemy of the State _prevented him from any privileges like that. The rumors were interesting enough.

Of course, when you're breaking rocks with lanterns in dimly lit tunnels, not everything gets caught, and a lot of relics are lost to history beneath iron hammers. Of course, in the early days of the _Silence_, many simply didn't care and recognized the stone artifacts for what they were, but chose to hit and break them. When this practice was identified, a new policy of immediate execution was installed, and more than a few of the miners painted the caves with their blood when they accidentally smashed the wrong stone. Some breakage was always expected – arguably the goal – but there seemed to be a design involved.

Peppy's optimal strategy was what he called his hammer meditation: he would perform every action and micromovement deliberately. Where most miners swung their hammers almost randomly, Peppy picked a target examined it for any irregularities, then beat it with a full exhale and then inspected the rubble left over.

Until today, he'd never found anything interesting. He beat a stone and watched as it broke in half and then revealed an all too perfect corner. Peppy looked at it and wasn't sure if it might be a crystalline deposit or something man made. He aimed a little bit below the anomaly and broke some pebbles loose. He hit it again.

One of the guards stepped close to him, "What's the matter?"

"I'm not sure," Peppy said. He tapped the area around the deposit and broke more pieces loose, gradually chipping a layer of rock off a tablet with stone inscriptions more or less extant, "Looks important."

"Damn." The soldier let his weapon fall to his side and picked up the comm link, "This is TSE 1337, we have a situation 114 here with prisoner Hare."

"Stand-by, TSE 1337." A few moments later, Peppy saw a team of black uniformed men come down the Tunnel and inspect the artifact that Peppy was apparently uncovering. The leader, an ape with a long scar across his face and a stern look bent down and started to dust the object clean, "Are you the one who found it?" he asked Peppy.

"Yes, sir."

"Prisoner Hare. Not sure if this is surprising or expected. Well, it doesn't seem damaged in any way." He stood up, "This team does good work, but there are restrictions. Have them transferred to TSW Sector 4. They can do plenty of good work there." He departed. Peppy supposed that it was some kind of compliment.

Torriki was close by with their equipment cart, "What's happening?"

As if to answer the Dinosaur Prince, their guard shouted, "Team A23, round up!" The miners spent the rest of the day in a different tunnel until they were shuffled back to their cells early with a small dessert reserved for finders of these mysterious artifacts. Peppy savored his, reflecting on the _Silence_'s punishment/reward system. For finding an artifact and trying to stick it up the _Union_'s arsehole, one received eternal punishment via instant lead. By reporting your finding, you and the closest thing you had to friends all received a small sleeve of cookies.

He spent the rest of the night in meditation. He did some evening stretches, and even a few sit ups hanging from the bars of his cell. But hoping he could try and contact Cumu again, he chose to forego most of his exercises in favor of his mental practice.

Clearing his mind was easy. He was used to skipping right by this place. Stopped fearing it long ago. He zoomed past Aquas, and Lylat. He stumbled a bit when it came to Lucy and Vivian, less so when it came to Fox and the War. When he arrived at the calm abiding of nothing, the state of _be here now_ that was just him, Peppy, in a room at the bottom of the ocean, in good health, and experiencing life, that's when things started to open up for him.

At first it was like a small box of light that opened up into a bright void of midnight. He focused on releasing himself and his desires to talk with Cumu. The cell disappeared and there was just Peppy and his breath. _I am here. I am breathing_.

_Be here now. _

He opened his eyes ever so slightly and saw a familiar shape: vulpine ears, a long snout, cocky smile. White jacket, red fur. Dark sunglasses. He was there for only another second. Peppy's concentration broke when he opened his eyes fully, not believing for a second that James McCloud was sitting in front of him.

And he wasn't. His eyes wide open, there was nothing there. Just the dark rock wall of his prison cell.


	13. Zamo II

**Chapter 13: Zamo II**

He slept the first three nights by the portal. He ate sparingly and explored the area around the door, but always in sight of it. Around the portal were a number of small plants, similar to the microgreens that Khafu helped him grow in the window and feed to the scarabs they kept as pets. There were scraggly twisted branches that clung low to the ground and produced squishy pink fruits. He didn't know what they were, and was wise enough not to eat plants he couldn't identify. Zamo hoped he might see an insect eat one and confirm the plants edibility, but none came.

Still, he slept below the door in the hopes that it might open. Mother said time worked differently here. Maybe all he had to do was wait and it might pass and the door would open to an older, but familiar Palace.

Yet after three days it didn't happen. His satchel emptied and it didn't happen. There was no sun in this place, only a constant gray mist that hung between the mushroom-shaped trees. He didn't know if it was day or night, just his body telling him when to sleep.

But now he was hungry and couldn't sleep. He was afraid of accidentally poisoning himself, but knew that if he was hungry enough it wouldn't matter and he would be desperate enough.

So he had to move.

He started by picking a direction that seemed more uphill than the other and just walked. He walked until the portal was just barely visible... and decided he needed to have a way back. He began by scratching off the bark from some of the trees. He continued this process noticing incremental changes in the landscape. The mushtrees got smaller and denser and the fruiting scrub that covered the forest floor shrunk until there was nothing but stones and the sheddings of the canopy. The slope increased until he was unambiguously ascending the side of a mountain. He figured this was a good thing: he might get some high ground and scout out the terrain below. The fog wasn't quite as thick here and Zamo could sense a slight change in the light, giving himself at least some sense of time. He kept ascending and stopped to rest. When he sat down, he was shocked to discover a small stone cottage in the distance. Built on the mountainside, it had a basement level that had a door to walk out of farther down the slope. A small series of terraces were dug into the hillside, and in them, an assortment of vegetables.

He crept closer. There was light coming from inside the house, and smoke from the chimney. There was a clothesline hanging above the garden drying socks. No. Not socks. Dried meat.

He kept checking the cottage worried that he might be located and driven away. He looked over at the window. Nothing. He decided instead to be moral and ask for something to eat. Certainly no one would turn away a starving child.

Zamo walked up to the door and knocked. No answer. He waited a full minute and then knocked again. Still nothing. He knocked a third time and then proceeded to wait so long that it didn't make any sense. A blue light inside taunted him.

His stomach made a rumbling noise that he couldn't ignore any longer. He crept to the garden and stared at the long pieces of flesh drying out in the sun with bits of salt visibly glinting in the dim light. What suddenly unnerved him was that there were no animals around doing exactly what he was doing.

He bent over and grabbed a triangular shaped melon and ran uphill until the cottage was out of sight.

It was hard not to eat the whole thing at once, but he forced himself to save it, not knowing when he'd find more. Despite the hunger that was gnawing at his belly, he was feeling better as the light was shifting with the altitude and the mist slowly dissipated.

Every so often he would stop and break off a piece of melon (it was orange on the inside, with soft gray seeds) and eat it slowly, as if languorously chewing would prolong his meal.

And then, it happened. Something broke. He could see a gray-blue sky and stars and the sops of the clouds that formed the forest's deep impenetrable mist. He was in open air, but so far had little to see, just more mountain. Only the sky was new, all of the stars foreign and somehow profane. He recognized no constellations. So he kept climbing.

At the peak, a jagged rock attempting to stab the sky, he was suddenly aware of how far he really was from Sauria: there was no sun here, and trillions of stars. A whole section of the sky was empty of them, if only for an unreal streak of light, jagged like a paint brush that slashed across the dim atmosphere. If he stared too directly at the gash of sun, it hurt, but not so much. It was only half as bright as Lylat, more like twice Solar, their resident red dwarf. But to see it spread across the sky like a stellar wound was frightening to behold.

He looked downward and saw an endless landscape of mountains and rivers. A great silver band wove through the vast sea of green and promised more than an endless fungal forest with solitary farms and rude farmers. Surely there were fish in the river, and possibly fishermen who could help him.

The bizarre beauty of this scenario was not lost on him, but since this sky was now his forever, maybe, he'd have years to look at it... but only if he could find a stable source of food. He started to descend the mountain toward the great silver river.

It seemed like the streak eventually fully disappeared leaving somewhat definite periods of night and day on Kadw. Zamo spent several hours descending, giving an estimate every once in a while to see how much of the sun streak descended below the horizon. He imagined what it would be like at the poles, to watch the sun streak circle the sky like a stellar painter.

He was still only half way down the mountain when night descended as the last of the sun streak disappeared below the horizon. Billions of new stars came out and lit up the world in an eery silver glow.

Zamo stopped. He realized how cold he was and felt rather foolish to have left the portal. That was the only thing he knew on this planet and he walked away into the unknown. Sure, he was hungry, but... but...

And then something changed. He felt warmer. Well, not exactly. He felt like being cold didn't matter any longer. Somewhere, he had other concerns.

He dropped his arms and turned around. He saw against the starlit sky and the mushtrees a pair of twinkling eyes glittered towards him with malcontent sparkling his way. Knowing without knowing, Zamo knew that whatever creature those eyes were attached to wanted him, and in a way that wouldn't leave much of Zamo to disagree.

Sophisticated psychokinetic powers reacted with primordial instinct: Zamo turned from the eyes and ran. He ran as fast as he could, adrenaline pumping his legs as much as the blood that the creature so wanted.

He couldn't see it, could only hear its heavy footsteps as they pounded the earth. He zigzagged through dense clusters of mushtrees, hoping the beast was too big to make it between their trunks. He was right, but could hear the shredding of fungal fibers from the trunks of the trees, accompanied by vicious growls of the animal as it clawed at the mushtrees to allow the chase.

His mind recovered some thoughts. He'd felt this afraid before, certainly. There were primal instincts that were programmed and accentuated from birth. His life was always at risk, in small ways. But now there was an immediate threat. His mind went to small moments in Krazoa Palace when he'd fallen down some stairs. Wudtod Khafu picked him up. Once he tried helping Scoria prepare lunch. He always loved food, and loved to feel like he was doing something instead of sitting around. But obsidian knives are sharp and care not if it was cucumber or flesh it was cutting through.

Both times he called out for Mother. He wanted her, needed her. Couldn't live without her. And now he was ripped from her on this strange place, about to die. He had no breath to speak, but his mind called out for her:

_Mother. Please. Help me. Save me. _

He dove between some mushtrees and felt the monster's claw against his foot, the beast was trapped behind them, roaring with hunger and frustration. Zamo thought of the time that Sharpclaw soldier was captured and screaming about all of the things he was going to do to Zamo once he was free. He thought of Hite stepping forward with finality and executing the Sharpclaw with a swift swipe of his sword. He wished Hite was here, or Mother, or Khafu, or anyone...

The beasts' teeth were close to devouring him, gnashing like something evil at his feet. And a flash of blue burst into view. The newcomer had a head like any Cerinian, with long triangular ears, a pointed snout, green eyes, but walked on all fours, had a body three to four times the size of Zamo's own, ending with a bushy tail. This creature leapt to his defense and roared back at the brown beast with fangs that overlapped its muzzle. It crouched into a jumping position, and roared angrily at the hungry monster in Zamo's defense.

The beast would have none of it. It roared back, a more complete and aggressive sound than Zamo remembered it only moments earlier.

The vulpodon placed itself between Zamo and the raging saber-tooth thing. It's movements were flowing, calculated, like a prepared dance with a monster fixated on death. When the saber-tooth finally did crouch and leap at the vulpodon – now a more enticing meal than tiny Zamo – the vulpodon leapt on its hind legs to meet the monster. The animals connected, sailing over Zamo, crashing into the soft floor of the forest, with enough momentum for the vulpodon to hurl the saber-tooth into a mushtree.

The force of the animal hitting the trunk of the tree was enough to collapse some of its central fibers and the fungus halved, encasing the beast briefly within it.

On Sauria, a carnivore might be deterred by this level of resistance. The saber-tooth was not. Perhaps some pride was at stake. Or maybe food was scarce enough that it couldn't risk the failure. Either way, the monster seemed only enraged further. It tore the mushtree to shreds.

While it was distracted, the vulpodon picked up Zamo in its mouth and started bounding through the trees. He looked back. It was gaining on them.

And then it had her. The beast swiped the vulpodon's hind legs. She tripped, and Zamo flew over the ground for a minute before crashing, and looking up to see his savior fighting for her life.

And a desperate thought, mixed with anger and life forced its way out of his mouth, "_Go. Away_."

The saber-tooth looked up at him, stopped attacking the vulpodon, and then without argument, walked off into the mushtrees. The vulpodon and the poor Cerinian child was the last meal it'd encounter for weeks. It probably wouldn't have the strength to make another kill. It would wander the mushtrees, even going so far as to gnaw on some of them for even the meagerest sustenance. But finally, the saber-tooth would lay down beside a river for one last drink. It would wonder exactly why it left the vulpodon and the boy go. It would wonder only briefly. Hunger and imagination and instinct...

Zamo only realized he'd fainted when he woke up to a vulpodon licking his face. She was as big as he was, most white than blue, and was inspecting him as a strange artifact. The larger one, his savior, was sleeping at the mouth of the cave. A third vulpodon was sniffing his bag, knowing there was once food inside.

He stood and walked to the cave mouth. She was sleeping so soundly he didn't want to disturb her. The white pup followed him and looked out with him into the landscape of black mushtrees and mountains and rivers. She didn't stay long. She and her brother curled up next to their Mother's belly and promptly fell asleep. She picked her head up and whined at him. _What are you doing? _She seemed to ask. He finally left the view of blackness and joined the vulpodon cubs in a pile of sleep. Her brother had his head cuddled into the bag he'd carried from Sauria. He growled when Zamo tried to touch it, and then licked his hand. _Thanks for the gift, brother. _

He curled up next to Mother and Sister put her head in his lap. He closed his eyes.


	14. Falco III

**Chapter 14: Falco III**

_This penchant for greater amounts of energy ultimately hastened the downfall of Sharpclaw civilization. Their demand for energy rose faster than their technological ability to satiate it._

He looked up from his tab at a pair of squealing girls. One was vulpid, the other aviad covered in blue feathers like him. The waves washed over their bodies transporting them from the warm Lylat sun, to oceanic cold in a second. Two canid boys on surf boards just a few meters out called to them.

_Sharpclaw, the first spacefaring Lylatian civilization, began harvesting raw materials from deeper and deeper inside their homeworld. While advanced in mathematics and engineering though they were, foresight was not one of the Sharpclaw's strengths (note how their religion was based on the never-ceasing, burning fire and the ritual consumption of it for fear of oblivion) and..._

The girls, grabbing their boards, finally braved the waves and cold. Falco's mind drifted away from the ancient moon of Sauria to Zoness, where he spent much of his time, or not enough. No wave was too cold back then...

_The resulting crash plunged Sauria into a dark age that collapsed every society on the planet. Crises erupted across Sauria that saw everything from doomsday cults to mass cannibalistic executions. Estimates of the population went from at least a billion or more to around 50 million inhabitants. _

The four surfers paddled out into the ocean where more epic swells began to form and... he directed his face back to the book.

_The premier question among astroclimatologists is not why so many died, but how so many survived. Mass extinctions on this scale have always been that – mass extinctions. But whole societies survived the defining moment of Lylatian civilizations as the Sharpclaw colonies across the System lost the beating heart of their civilization and would soon be reduced to bands of roving mercenaries and scattered technical wizards. The greatest effect was noticed, of course, on Corneria (see Volume I). _

He put down the book and decided not to watch the surfers. It was easy to forget he was not on Zoness, or that he was a politically hot soldier. One whose best case scenario involved dying for a cause he didn't believe in to be honored at a shrine with all of his past treasons forgotten. Maybe slipping away to surf the Rift Junction Isles in obscurity wouldn't be such a bad thing. Worst case scenario: he was discovered, courtmartialed, and executed.

Who cared at that point?

He slipped the tab into his bag and ignored the aviad catching a wave, her arms stretched out, wings holding air like their ancestors did, only they used it to surf wind currents on Zoness' high pressure atmosphere. Falco and the rest of the off-world-born could spend the rest of their lives among the dense air currents of Zoness. Their wings would never grow back to the strength of their ancestors.

The beach was filled with people of different kinds. Most obvious were the Cornerian vacationers. There were massive high-rise hotels terracing the Cape Claw skyline like mechanical anthills on the Tsudish sands. Behind them was the city, all but hidden by the sickly Cornerian foliage planted at the crest of the hill between the beach and the shoreside boulevard. Every so often along the beach was a scarab-shaped block of concrete with a deep X carved on the sea-side end of it. Last time Falco was here, his mission involved scouting out the location for those emergency shore batteries. Construction companies, eager to get a piece of beach property that didn't look like a warzone, pressured the colonial government to make the shore batteries look like a little less menacing. These ones took an extra second to open with explosive bolts, but looked just like peculiar pimples on the sandy topography and not useless weapons. No force on Sauria had a navy that could perform such an invasion. No force that also didn't control the shore batteries themselves.

This was what life on Sauria had become: the semblance of capital normalcy with the accent of danger and hostility. Out there: blue waves and the closest thing to freedom he'd ever known. Here on the shore: the reminder of his open prison.

There was a cabana bar on the way back to the base so he stopped for a beer. He was having dinner with Bill in five hours. He had time. There was a plump-looking Cornerian at the end of the bar chatting with an over-excited, skinny, blue-furred vixen. She was missing any of the distinctive white marks that would identify her tribe. Of all the cerulean colored Saurians he'd seen, half abandoned their tribal markings. An annoying minority replaced white dye with white robes and preached the Way of the Bonobo. Almost as soon as he sat down under the cabana, one of them – this one an elderly woman who'd gone so far as to shave half her body of the pagan marks – came to offer him a booklet. Rather than get into a thing with her, he accepted the free literature and she walked away.

"Are you actually going to read that?" The voice was the bartender's, confident and assured as one would be. Falco turned toward the bar and took off his sunglasses.

"I migh..." she had red feathers that flared out like pieces of sun from her body. Flecks of emerald green lined the base of her neck, covering her chest in a motley of green shades and leading to her plumage stylized to make her look fiercer than your average bartenderess. He had to stop himself from staring, "I might."

"It's interesting for what they don't say, rather than what they do. My cousin is one of them. We can't spend an Equinox dinner without hearing about it."

"That's... too bad." He was back on Zoness. He was behind the bar. It was his bar. Would become his bar. She wasn't tending, she was ordering. Asking for a glass of his free time. She teaches surfing lessons. _Do you want one?_

"What can I get you?"

"A... beer."

"Any preference?"

His brain was grasping for a name. Any name. It fell over and over against _Ave_. But he knew that wasn't right. It wasn't the name of a beer.

"Here you are: Blue Crown." She popped the cap off a twisted bottle and handed him a little plate of candied nuts to go with the drink, "You're not from around here, are you?"

"Uh... no."

"Corneria? Military?"

"Yes, to both."

She popped the cap off her own twisted bottle and said, "Cheers," tapping his almost casually, "Thought so."

He drank. It was a different flavor, lager with hints of citrus that felt right for the setting, "I'm sorry for staring," he said, "You look like someone I used to know."

"Someone worth knowing, I hope?" She took some of the candy off his plate and tossed it into her beak.

"At the time, yeah."

"What happened?"

"Long story."

"What's she up to now?"

"Wouldn't know. We split on Zoness over two decades ago. I was a kid who didn't know what the homeworld was like. Man..." He knew he shouldn't be talking about this. Even Fara didn't know, "I was so stupid back then."

"You've been to Zoness?"

"A couple of times."

"Is it as beautiful as I imagine it?" She smiled, taking another swig, "My grandfather used to tell me stories about his village before the War. The _Other _War, that is." Falco realized he was a generation removed from her. His father fought in the Zoness War as a part of the Zonesian Loyalist Brigade. His parents bought a restaurant with the pension money, "They lived on Zozi Island. Were you ever there?"

Falco shook his head, "No. Why did your grandfather leave?"

"Why did you?"

"I wasn't born there."

"Your parents?"

"My father was Cornerian-born."

"His father?"

"_Kanudubi_."

"Oh." The name for Zonesian forced re-settlement was all too familiar. He didn't mean to drive her away, but she suddenly found other work to attend to and left. No one talked about Operation: Kanudubi. Its name was enough of a reminder that people like him lived between worlds. Forever exiled from Zoness and the Sky Kings who bore them into existence.

He decided not to burden her any more, but he had to call her over and ask to pay. She walked over without eye contact and held out her hand. He placed his comm link in her palm and she quickly swiped it over the computer's sensor. His name and the price of the beer came up on the computer and made her eyes widen, "You..."

He took the comm link back, "Thanks."

"Wait!" she called, pulled her tank top aside, to show him the printed number on her shoulder blade. Not just any number, it was Falco's grandfather's number, "Your dad's painting really affected me."

"Usually people ink their _own _grandparents' number."

"My grandparents plucked them out." They were back on that topic.

"See you." He took the beer and walked away. _Anywhere I go, tragedy follows. _

As he walked back to the base, it was easy to forget that Sauria was a colony world and not down town Corneria City. Lining the streets were as many computer shops and yuppie cafes as neo-traditional tea houses and singing rooms. Single-night or back-packer friendly fooding and lodgings were legion, cashing in on different types of tourism, particularly the adventure and sexual varieties. cerulean-furred vixens were easy, or so he thought, to categorize into prostitutes or not. The former group still wore their tribal markings: full white muzzles for the Jootag, shoulder suns for the Cerinian, triple-forehead lines for the Cuej, knots for the Thibfu, dots and arches for the Umtenu, eyes of illumination for the Cutubxa. The girls trying to abandon their barbaric pasts and join the Union culture sphere had a sea of unbroken blue from their tails to their ears, now with a variety of clothing styles: gold and silver earrings, jade bracelets, pink miniskirts, green and orange tank tops. Absolutely absent were patterns that might be mistaken for woven textiles worn in the village. Market and mixed neighborhoods of commercial-industrial projects were punctuated by houses of worship. A Bonobist temple was surrounded by white tunic wearing followers, and lay people in all manner of dress (the "Inf" which referred to the "Infiltrators" or "Inferiors" depending on who you asked). Cornerian businessmen in full urban attire walked side-by-side with Cerinians in green-dyed fur and studded bracelets running up their arms. Down the street was a Trinitist Temple advocating community dinners every other day and simultaneously inviting the faithful to help staff those dinners. There was an oddity in all of these, an ancient temple in the Thibfu style with colorful prayer flags strung across the walls and prayer wheels lining them. Blue-robed monks strolled behind old tribal folks wondering how and why they ever left the village. There was a young Cuej in a black t-shirt and a backpack spinning the wheels dutifully, almost second nature, as if he couldn't head to his job – be it herding langur yaks or fixing computer parts – without completing this ancient rite. At the end of one street, renting a room at the top of a building it shared with a fried food shop, a computer-per-hour center, a companion bar, and a questionable restaurant, was Cape Claw Colony Center for Zonesian Spirituality, a local Aviad Revivalist group. Between all of these sectors was the enormous food market that sprawled across and between multi-story concrete halls, countless stands and open restaurants selling everything from blood oranges off the Cuej coast to salted vuakas (at 40 Lyles a pop!) from Ali'ali. There was hand crafted incense that was advertised from a Cerinian monastery but most likely from someone's basement, and bread from a Papetoon-style bakery, and Zonesian nut tortillas, and Eladard processed foods, and Bonobist slung fish off the coast of Whartonia, and langur yak meat, dried and cooled on tantalizing grills and boiled in seductive soups. There were huge open kitchens surrounded by Cornerian-style picnic tables and cheap plastic stools. Fusion _Saurian _food had become perhaps Cape Claw Colony's greatest creation in the types of dishes it created: black bean noodles, sauced poultry in a mix of vegetables and noodles, Cuej military-stews, corresponding Umtenu and Jootag varieties, mixed rice that eschewed its traditional ingredients in favor of something new and creative, chillies, mushrooms, and cheese between a rice "burger," Bafomdad shredded into fine slices and grilled with pickled cabbage spiced with dried red chillies. Passing it all made Falco's beak water with the possibilities to fill his stomach.

He followed the trail of checkpoints that led to ever higher security zones where the wild colors of tropical Sauria hardened to green flora and olive-and-metal of the CDF. He'd managed to only pick up a cup of thick hazelnut milk. It cost quite a bit, but was a delicacy you don't find often. Well worth the cash. He still had a few hours to go before his dinner with Bill. He went to his quarters, passing so many recruits new to the Colony who'd heard of Falco only based off rumors, and decided to read for the next few hours until dinner...

_In Volume I, we recounted how the dismantling of the Sharpclaw as a centralized polity eventually led to the impoverishment of their colonies and being forced into more or less wandering bands of technically advanced mercenaries. They were put to their greatest use on Corneria when the wealthy merchant family, House Phoenix, employed Sharpclaw soldier to guard their caravans. This snowballed into dominance over Tsudish trade and eventually global dominance. _

_Somewhat pleasingly, there was a reverse situation with a similar effect on Sauria. After the dust had (quite literally) settled, the scattered remaining tribes emerged from their hiding places to try and rebuild civilization. The dust and minerals from the impact increased the fertility of Saurian soil. Tribes like the Jootag, which had survived the Cataclysm by conquering and stealing from other tribes emerged as a carefully constructed society that could subjugate others. _

_The Jootag were not like the Phoenixes. Let's journey back to Corneria briefly for the sake of contrast. The Phoenixes started as water merchants monopolizing the fluid tax of oases before expanding to caravans, spice trade, city welfare, and finally, raiding and statecraft. The Jootag followed a reverse path, emerging from their safe houses to raid and pillage, evolving a warrior culture centered around headhunting and skull-trading. From there, the Jootag acquired vassals who would pay tribute (and later taxes) to keep the raids away for good, and indeed, even achieve protection from other tribes. As the Jootag acquired more and more wealth, they emerged with grand trade routes and an accidental state structure that only needed a strong leader. This happened approximately 500 years before Union when Chief Mekuobqemu united 15 out of 30 Jootag tribes and subjugated the others in a combination of war and marriage. _

_It's important to consider the economies of the Jootag Bxuduko. The Jootag operated under the assumption that the Bxuud was divine and that this power was maintained by harmony between earth and heaven. Palaces, temples, and indeed, individual homes were not complete without a set of skulls to empower the room's living and dead energies. But the energy in the bones decayed according to natural logic: larger skulls decayed slower (the skulls of Earthwalkers, Cloudrunners, and Sharpclaw were prized) and the skulls of the more virtuous were not because they took a shorter time to pass through the afterlife and into rebirth. These rules, including the custom of a room without a skull for balance was essentially a room without a roof, created a scarcity of skulls. This pit the Jootag in constant warfare with the Sharpclaw, Earthwalker, and Lightfoot tribes, allowing them to claim mastery over Saurians as a race._

Falco saw himself at the market place. Instead of sacks of grains and mountains of mushrooms, slabs of Bafomdad meat and ground meal, dried fish and vegetable jerky, there was nothing but skulls. Old women fidgeted with their table and the displays, turning newer whiter skulls out toward marketers who perused new arrivals for their powers. A clan chieftain sat in an elaborate stone chair surrounded by tables with scores of white and brown and blackened skulls to choose from. Some had long snouts with openings for eyes and ears and air, and long fangs like those of vulpids and canids. Some were enormous, with large shields and horns from Earthwalkers, others the round craniums and flat faces of apes. Others were oblong spheres with rows of razor-like teeth and complex nasal cavities. Some were small and round with enormous beaks. There were names listed on the tables. Too few names for so many bones. The names were not of the dead, they were of the living. They were the names of the killers.

A man walked up to him, one in long robes, who specialized in estimating the spiritual potential for skulls, "How much for that one there?" He pointed to a belt around Falco's body. He was in a Jootag earth-colored tunic, it had red and white stripes at the hem. There was a leather scabbard around his belt and a curved, weighty blade. Around his body was wrapped a length of heads he'd collected. One was of an amphibian lost in a nebulae far away. Another was a vulpid missing an ear. Another was an avian like him, with red feathers and green plumage. The last, the one he pointed to, looked just like him. An avian, with blue feathers and red mixed in, "How much?" It looked just like him. It was him.

He was jolted awake. The alarm managed to tell him he had a half hour to go until his dinner with Bill. The tab was lying open by his hand on the page about the economics of Jootag headhunting. He closed the book after looking at the phrase _mountains of skulls_, and then got dressed in his formal uniform.

The jacket and pants were white for the Cornerian Army. A set of stripes sat on each soldier for the rank of Colonel. On his breast were a number of campaign stripes. Some mocking, some earned. They were arranged chronologically: Corneria, Meteo, Fortuna, Sector Y, Aquas, Zoness, Katina, Sector X, Titania, Area 6, Venom, Sector Z, Sauria, Lylat, the Defense of Corneria, the Aparoid Homeworld, Kew, and there was a space reserved for Sauria again. There were four droplets of blood molded out of burned up starcraft parts to represent how many hits he'd taken in the line of fire. A set of Arwings flew in silver, bronze, and gold over his campaign stripes and all of it was rounded off with a silver dot for bravery.

He straightened the jacket and looked at himself in the mirror. His eyes looked foreign, vaguely absent like so many pigments on a canvas. He couldn't meet his own gaze, and left his quarters with five minutes to spare.

Bill lived at the top of Sauria Central Command. He had them construct a glass box next to the emergency helipad which served as his quarters. Falco dismissed the rumor as being the stuff of army gossips. He expected Bill's quarters to have a large window or something else that got bigger and bigger with each retelling. He was surprised to see, quite literally, a glass box on the roof of the building overlooking the base, the city, and the ocean. A setting orange sun seemed to burn a trail from where they stood, across the resorts, and markets, and high rises, and out into the water ending only where the eastern shore of the Saurian continent - thousands of miles to the east of where they stood - began again.

Bill was naked in his glass quarters. He didn't see Falco, but knew he was close. He dressed quickly in a gray shirt with thick CDF letters across the chest and a pair of jeans before coming out and seeing him. They saluted. "I ordered in for us." There was a table set precariously close to the edge of the roof. On it were two styrofoam boxes steaming from their contents. Bill motioned for him to sit and open his meal.

Falco did so: inside was steaming Whartonia rice and Cuej vegetables topped with seared Bafomdad meat. An assortment of sauces in small plastic cups lined the inside. Next to the table was a cooler. Bill reached in and plucked out two ice cold brews, "Cuej Pilsner."

Falco popped the tab and took a long drink, "Wow. It's good."

"Some Papetoon archaeologists came to Sauria in the 50s and taught Cuej locals to make beer, cheese, chocolate, and opened a tiny Trinitist chapel. Good place. Only decent non-import beer on the planet."

Bill handed him a set of metal chopsticks, "Do you know how to use these?"

_I lived with Fox McCloud, of course I do, _"Yes."

"Don't just consume it, sample the sauces. Everyone likes something a bit different."

Falco opened a little plastic bowl containing soy sauce. The Bafomdad meat didn't taste like anything special. He might as well eat pork. But the soy sauce at least added some flavor.

He went through each sauce in turn, coming to the conclusion that a chunky orange dipping one was his favorite. He finished the rest of the meal with generous portions of it.

"I got it from a little place called _Tehzo_'s. Very expensive, Bafomdad meat. But they even rate your personality based on sauce preference. Lots of Saurians think Bafomdad meat can make you immortal, or assure your longevity, or raise the dead, or whatever. And this place turned cultural fusion into their restaurant gimmick: eat the meat, live a long time. How do you eat it: how do you live?"

"What does this sauce say about me?"

"Don't know. I'd have to ask the cook there."

They both finished their meals and sat looking at the sunset drinking another bottle of Cuej Pilsner. Falco tried to pretend he knew what was going on and that he was just an old friend, a fellow officer in the CDF just having a friendly dinner and drink.

"I love this view. The city. The harbor. It's magnificent."

"Is that why you have the glass box for quarters?"

Bill laughed, "A pleasant side effect."

"Then, why?"

"To show the world I have nothing to hide. Call it radical honesty."

"Isn't that a bit extreme?" Falco was suddenly aware of the two beers he'd finished. Never a teetotaler, Falco thought confession was the worst way to commit drunken suicide. He took a few showy swigs without drinking anything.

"I don't think so. I'm held in high regard among the Legislature and I commend the security of CCC. And you..." Bill stopped for a drink, "Well, I've seen your file. As thick as a Kudkhu, with a hundred footnotes and tabs. If you sneeze, you better believe CDF knows about it. They have the entire history of the house you and Fara bought. Once it was owned by a hoarding painter. Another by a man who killed himself, or, no, attempted suicide after his divorce." Another drink, "I don't really care about any of that. Military-wise, you've been put on some of the hardest of the hardcore missions. The two battles of Cape Claw..."

"Back-to-back," Falco said under his breath.

"Assault on the Aparoid homeworld. Where only 10% of your squadron survived. The Defense of Corneria was a particularly bloody battle. Anyway, you were pretty much always put on the front lines, the vanguard, and anything that had a lifespan of a couple hours."

"Part of it was self-inflicted."

"I can see that. My question is _why?_"

"Because I want to do my job."

"Do you enjoy killing people, Falco?"

Instinctively, Falco responded, "No." Who in their right mind would ever answer, _Yes_, to such a thing?

"Don't just _say _that," Bill ordered, "Actually consider the question. From the moment Fox McCloud asked you to fly StarFox with him, until now, did you learn something uncomfortable about yourself on the battlefield?"

He didn't answer. He only stared at the silver ocean as the night began to descend and the first stars began to glitter into the night sky. He thought of all the people he killed. Never once did he ever know their names. The word _No _was at the tip of his beak.

"That's the difference between your and me, Falco. That's why I live in a glass box and they reward me. You're useful to them and fight destiny every step of the way. And they hate you."

"But _why_, Bill?" He put down his beer, "You said so yourself: I've done so much for the Union, but they still treat me with contempt."

"Because you spend all this time brooding, in contempt of your own. Your a _soldier_, Falco. You're not made to think. You're made to hold a gun and shoot _that_-a-way." Bill made a gun with his fingers and pointed toward the sun. "You think too much. Ask too many questions with your silences and movements and your inconvenient survival. You're too good, don't your realize? And they think you're hiding something."

"War is a continuation of politics by another means." Falco leaned in, pointing an accusatory finger at the table, "The Emperor said that."

"Which Emperor?"

"Andross." He emphasized proudly, "The First."

Bill laughed.

"And if that's true, then the purpose of my _wife_'s job and mine is closer than any one is willing to admit. If that's true, then I am an actor of the state. And things I do have consequences that I am complicit in."

"Consequences that you think deserve to be questioned?"

"Can you prove to me otherwise?"

"Yeah, I can." Bill stood up and emptied his beer, "Come with me." He led Falco to the elevator and swiped his identification. He hit the button for B9. The box turned green with approval and descended below the command facility. They walked out and were greeted with a blast of cool air and a sign for a series of secure checkpoints listed in Cornerian, Saurian, and Cerinian glyphs:

OCEAN FORCE POINT TEMPLE ACCESS POINT

Bill swiped his card and the doors flashed green and let them through. A grand stone archway greeted them beyond and revealed an architectural wonder he'd never seen before. There were a thousand shades of blue, cascading waterfalls, shrines and machinery still being debated and examined by archaeologists. Room after room in the ancient place held a new wonder unimaginable to Falco's modern mind. Their path led to a grand final chamber down farther and farther to a great hollowed out sphere where four causeways led to an island floating in the cave. There was what seemed to be a stone attempt at making a computer console. Rough hexagonally oblong stones with glowing amber in their center were arranged around a central pillar into the four directions. Above them was a hovering representation of Sauria out of colored clay that eerily revolved.

"You think you can understand the answers to the questions you ask, but believe me: you can't. We have a multi-discipline team of researchers working on figuring out this temple and exactly how it affects the planet. All we know is that this right here is the key, and it can be accessed from three other parts of Sauria. If we can't secure those other gateways," he pointed down the other three causeways, "they could take these Spell Stones, and ruin the entire operation we have here. The whole Colony could become a ghost town."

"Are you even listening to yourself?" Falco felt exasperated by this planet of madness, "_Spell Stones_? _Gateways_? Those aren't the kinds of questions that bother me."

"Do you like to kill people, Falco?"

"_No_." He answered emphatically.

"Then why are you a soldier?"

_Because I had no other option. _

"To help save others? Then here's the answer to your riddle: Sauria is in a delicate balance. And it's up to us, _the actors of the state_, to maintain that balance. The price to pay for that is a few murdered wildlings and savages. Because the moment that balance collapses, that whole colony of people, and the offworld homes they came from, are _dead_." He jabbed a finger into Falco's chest so hard he thought he might fall off the causeway and into this planet's core. Forever.

"_Dead_. _Dead. Dead_."


	15. Fara II

**Chapter 15: Fara II**

The Eighty-fourth Legislature began in just two weeks. In that time, Fara would be in and out of informal meetings with Union policy makers and world-shakers to try and push through Papetoon friendly legislation before any of the voting actually began.

She'd been away from her office in the Capitol for so long that the first thing she decided to do was lock the door and turn on some music. She usually chose a heavier sort of metal for this work. Something thick with advancing and retreating drumbeats, biting guitar riffs, and lyrics that sang to an angrier person than her.

_I was so wrong to believe all of you.  
Every time I open my eyes,  
I see the darkness come through.  
The darkness comes through. _

She sat down at the computer and disconnected all of the cables. Fara picked up the keyboard and shook it, feeling closely for any vibrations that shouldn't be there. Nothing tell-tale. It'd be funny if they would be so careless. She removed a small penknife from a desk drawer and began taking off the keys looking carefully under each one for any disturbance. When they were all removed she studied the inner components for anything that wasn't directly connected and was satisfied to find nothing.

Next she took the harddrive, a box that sat neatly in her lap, and unscrewed the shell into four clean plates that lied neatly on the desk. She took out each of the nine components inside and studied each one. Five years earlier, Falco helped to teach her to build her own computer. This ensured she knew every piece of the machine. She backed up her new knowledge with a healthy, genuine interest that revealed itself in a rare collection of custom electronics and computation devices.

Nothing. She put the computer back together.

_I see the world through the undertow.  
These anchors of hope, they drag me down below.  
Put my faith in ones who promised change,  
But where has it gotten me? _

She looked under the desk and around the table legs. Silly. But might as well cross it off the list.

Fara moved on to the monitor, just a short frame that projected opaque holographic images. It was too complex to build from scratch, but she could identify the parts and rebuild it.

It was also empty.

Her office was intentionally spartan. There were less places to hide things that way. Once she had a bookshelf that proved to be a hive of activity so she had it removed. In its place were a dozen face-saving pictures of safe family members. There was a photo of her and Falco visiting Wnuddwou Lake. Another picture had her with her brother at one of his debut performances. Another was a picture at her mother's funeral.

_A broken dream, from a, corrupted preacher.  
A vagabond, without a home,  
I've been cursed to wander,  
All alone._

They were also empty. They were only photographs printed directly on glass mounted onto the wall, a difficult environment for a bug to live.

Her comm link vibrated against her hip.

_'Cause I've been buried alive,  
I've been buried,  
But I still have hope inside,_

She shut the music off, "Fara Phoenix."

"Ma'am, there's someone from Governor Bowman's office here to see you."

"Send him in." She put the link down and continued searching.

The door opened and a tall, lanky Sharpclaw walked into her office. He had an angular face and bulging eyes. A long curling tail came around flexing periodically near the small of his back. He was dressed in the Cornerian way: a black formal jacket over a white, buttoned shirt. A pair of brown, non-matching pants were settled awkwardly around his thin waist, "Good afternoon, Madam Representative."

"Good afternoon," she said, "I hope you won'd mind if I'm a bit distracted at the moment." She was busy checking the lights overhead and around the bulbs.

"If I may?" He held a scaly hand toward the window that overlooked the southwest of the city.

She nodded. The Sharpclaw walked over to the window and opened it all the way with a rush of air filling the office. He quickly inspected the train that kept the window in place and plucked his claws into the trench for only a second and removed a seed-sized black dot as thick as a tick. He held it up into the light from outside and smiled.

Fara looked at it fascinated. Would it even have occurred to her to check the window? Possibly not.

He tossed it into the wind and shut the window.

"Well you certainly have my attention, Mr..."

"Antoine Kosciuszko. Merely a representative of Governor Bowman. His _humble _representative, at your service." He bowed.

"Please, sit." She motioned to a chair in front of her desk. They both sat. Fara put her finger on the comm link, "Is there anything I can get you?"

"No, thank you." He had a cool way of speaking that felt naturally conspiratorial, as if every word was loaded with double entendre. Or it might be his thick Venomic accent.

"Then what do I owe this pleasure to?"

"His excellency the Bowman sent me here for a reason, but I'd like to prologue before I carry out his instructions. If you don't mind?" She nodded, "Before the War, Venom was a place of failed Sharpclaw states. We'd divided into warring principalities fighting over what little there was. Venom was not technically advanced enough to sustain our population. It was a place of hard living. Andross, the Emperor, praised be his name, came to us like a God. We even have whole religious movements dedicated to him. All have the same painting of the Emperor, large as a giant, carrying a burning fasces to us poor Sharpclaw below, bestowing the gifts of progress and advancement upon us. He could perform miracles, I tell you. I myself have seen how single handedly, our spacecrafts which languished on their launching pads for years suddenly took flight for the first time in centuries. He directed all of our anger and frustration, promising us the wealth and abundance of Corneria. He spoke of bringing Venom's ruins back to their former glory. I myself was a fighter pilot in the _Great_ War, as we call it. Never did I feel more alive than when I marched lock-step in the victory parade along this very Lane. Unlike most of my kin I stayed on Corneria, figuring this was why I'd fought. My relatives, my friends, my brothers all languished back home in continued poverty. Fighting broke out again. Water riots, gang violence, police actions. All of it just as bad as before. Surely you remember the fields of cacti that went up in flames? Thousands died because of lost crops." Fara nodded. To her it was a flash on the news. Antoine lived it more intimately, "The promised abundance never came. In fact, it got worse because there was no longer internecine conflict to hold down our numbers." He smiled, "And then the Bowman came. He started by beginning a planet-wide scholarship program to send bright Venomic students to Universities on Corneria and Papetoon. He also began programs to do the opposite: to draw Cornerian professors to Venom to teach. He began state-directed and corporate water initiatives and built museums and employed Clan elders as their curators. He taught us that a preservation of the material culture and a transformation of our traditions into a new epoch was more than possible, it was here, now. It was Bowman who began VLEC, the Venomic Language Exchange and Culture, to exchange Cornerian and Venomic high school students, inspiring bilingualism across Venom. Those churches that made the Emperor into a God, they emptied during the Troubles. Now they are filled, and they preach the message of his incarnation in our Savior, the Bowman."

Antoine reached under his shirt and revealed a necklace. On one side was an A in a circle, white on black. On the other side was an overly sentimental portrait of Dash, "the Bowman."

"Why are you telling me all of this?"

"It's difficult to understand as an abstract. Learning from the Internet, news headlines, everything else. Seeing a Sharpclaw before you, telling you how he experienced his life, his nation, and history, was to us more important than the simple information that Governor Bowman wanted me to transmit to you." He reached into his jacket and placed a small square on her desk. She picked it up and squeezed it until it _clicked _and a hologram emerged displaying an invitation:

You, Representative Phoenix,  
Are cordially invited  
to a  
State Dinner  
in  
Wodę Metropolitan Museum of Art  
hosted by the office of  
Governor Dash Bowman

Below was a date two weeks from now, "This is the day the voting begins in the Legislature."

"It's the day the Legislature _opens_. Voting hardly takes place on the first day." He was right, "Besides, we'll have you back before the first round of vote casting. No worries."

"Why am I being invited?"

"The Bowman has gone on record recently stating how much of an _inspiration _you've been to him. We think it's important to honor that."

She clicked the invitation one more time and it shut off, "I hope you'll give me some time to consider this."

He stood, "Of course." He moved towards the door and hit the key to open it, "My pleasure speaking with you, Madam Representative."

The door slid shut behind him. Fara tapped her fingers against the desk for a long moment. She turned on the computer and examined the schedule for the Legislature Opening: An initial twenty minute ceremony, a reading of the week's committees, all exploratory, an introduction from the Emperor, videoed in, and a short statement given by the Tanist.

She slipped the invitation into her pocket and shut the computer off, "Madu, I'm going home early today."

"Yes, ma'am."

Fara stood and gathered her comm link and closed the office down. As she passed Madu, an aviad with white and black feathers, she said, "Please let me know if you get any messages from Venomic sources. Immediately."

She nodded, "Yes, ma'am."

Outside Fara hailed a taxi through her link. A small silver sedan lazily coasted to the curb and ignored the dozen or so suited men and women waiting for their own rides. The vehicle's door automatically opened, lifting up and beckoning her inside to an almost luxuriously roomy interior where she could stretch out and relax on her ride to the Aburros Coast where her house, the home she created with Falco out of broken futures, sat.

The auto drifted out of the city along Highway 109 and after twenty minutes took Exit 13. Not right. There were another ten exits to go. She picked up the comm link. The auto's destination was still listed as her house, but it now had a bizarre detour with a stop at an unmarked road in what amounted to a forest buffer-zone between Corneria City and its suburbs. From there, the route went right back to the on ramp zooming off to her house. Figuring she must have tail-dialed, she deleted the detour and put her head back against the window to watch the trees and clouds fly past becoming mountains and mist.

The auto beeped twice to confirm the route change.

Ten seconds later it beeped twice again. She checked the route. It was still detouring toward the forest. She deleted it once more, and the beeps were strung together into an ominous four beat sing-song. The detour was gone and reappeared all at once.

Her heart started beating like war drums. She thought about when she heard Kalos was executed by firing squad. Her heart was beating this exact same rhythm. Her mother sobbed at the news, reporting to the silent room between sobs, _Oh my gods, we're next_.

The auto drifted to a stop at a conifer grove littered with pine needles. There was no sign of civilization except the barely paved road that the auto coasted along away from the side street quickly swerving away from the 109.

The door opened and the auto beeped, "Detour Arrived."

She stayed seated. Until a pair of pink hands and a gun showed up at the window. She backed away toward the open door and edged towards the opening where two more figures appeared. One was a cerulean-furred vixen and the other was a ghost she recognized all too well.

"Oh, gods..."

"Hi, Fara."

"Fox..." He looked like he'd aged twice as much since she last saw him. Scars had defurred him, most prominently on his left ear. He'd lost a white jacket and was dressed only in a red combat shirt and a pair of green flight pants. All of which were faded from over use and stained everything from deep maroon to black. He had deep moons under his eyes and the kind of staring off-center gaze of a sober person, "Oh, gods," she repeated.

"Good to see you too." He had that stupid puerile smile that she found as irresistible as it was detestable. She thought about when she met him at the Academy, the way he looked at her with that stupid look that she wanted to kiss and smack all at once.

"She looked over to the pink feline and the blue Saurian, "So... what now?"

"I'll keep it short." She was painfully aware of the blaster in his holster, so old and chipped it probably dated to the War, "We're looking for Falco."

"Oh." She looked at the girls, "Is this your new crew?" The smart thing to do would be to start naming features of his partners. Any listening instruments could at least be able to confirm that she wasn't conspiring with Fox McCloud... even the name made her blood pressure rise, "You have a soft spot for Fennecs, as usual?"

Fox smiled, "Where's Falco?"

She shook her head, "I can't tell you." The pink feline lifted her blaster and charged it ominously, but not pointed at Fara, "All right, all right... Sauria. But I swear that's all I know. Everything else is classified."

The blue vixen hit her weapon so heavily against her hand it sounded menacing, "I swear!" She wanted an award for acting. Maybe a future career in radio, "I swear! I _swear_, that's all I know!"

"All right," Fox said, still with that stupid smile, "I believe you." He motioned to the girls to move back, "Just get in the auto and it will take you home." He turned away and started to walk into the trees.

"Wait!" she shouted, "You can't!" He looked at her with mild confusion. She was going to get in the auto and take it all the way home. She would cry the entire time. She was going to get home and call the police. Cry some more. Give a statement and cry again. She wanted to ask him if they ever had a chance. Between the war that destroyed them and the baby that never took breath, after the death of her family and his exile... _no_, _we were probably doomed from the start._

He put a hand on her shoulder and understood. Apparent intimidation wouldn't be enough for the police. They'd need scars.

A tear ran down her face as he touched he cheek, "I know." He was as sweet and tender as she'd remembered.

And then he hit her.


	16. Falco IV

**Chapter 16: Falco IV**

_Cerinian Mythology, Part II, Chaos_

_The trickster archetype has emerged in all cultures as an expression of the nebulous forces and the negative side of intelligence (or according to some, the dangers of a lack of intelligence on the part of the tricked). However, it's worth noting that while Cerinian religion uses the same story-telling strategies as these other cultures and mythologies, that the trickster in Cerinian mythos plays a special role in Cerinian worldview. _

_The original story surrounding the Usxe Cucu is one of annoyance. In the story, a girl named Normu is being chased by a demon. She calls to the moon to help her away from the demon that wants to devour her flesh. She calls to the moon, whom she refers to as Usxe Cucu, to send her a ladder so she might escape into the stars. Usxe Cucu responded that he was too busy to help her, but ended up looking down at her and falling completely in love with her beauty. After his first two refusals, he stared too long during her third request, and in the nick of time, threw down his ladder to save her from the demon. _

_There are several effects this has in the Cerinian canon. The first being that the male, enlightening moon of the earlier canon shifts to a dangerous feminine one of the late canon. Another being a deep example of the Rippling Nature of Reality: the demon, who went hungry, went on to terrorize the villages and towns until brave hunters could dismember and kill it (see the Wotid Sxefoc Cycle in the preceding Part). Of course, some of these stories then describe ill effects of demon hunting, including the poisoning of the kill site or the deaths of the hunters foolish enough to eat his meat. _

_Cults of Usxe Cucu were common, though short lived. They are often correlated in Cerinian history with times of chaos and incarnations of the spirit (though never referred to as a deity in its own right) in the body of a person. Something comparable to demonic possession in Cornerian mythologies. _

_One of the most famous of these cults is what birthed the Jootag tribe in the Post-Cataclysm Era. A warrior named "Moon Brother" began the first series of Bone Wars against the Sharpclaw and what was perceived as a "New World Order." King-Speaker Mekuobqemu, now famous for uniting the Jootag Clans into a Bxuduko, inspired a long series of Usxe Cucu cults from the very beginning. These cults, in such a religiously charged world are comparable to the flaring of counter political ideas on Corneria. Think anything from Anti-Unionists to Anarchists, bomb-throwing and otherwise. Usxe Cucu followers can be distinguished by the different stories they emphasize. _

_In one story, Usxe Cucu steals the Bxuud's primary wife and retreats through the jungles of fire, water, earth, wood, and iron, before causing a succession crisis. _

_In another tale, Usxe Cucu is merely watching a religious festival passively when the Bxodte refuses to acknowledge a worshipper of Usxe Cucu. After seeing this offense, Usxe Cucu possessed a nearby monk who killed and consumed her. _

_My particular favorites, because they avoid run of the mill assassination and war hero archetypes of chaos, are those where Usxe Cucu is a farmer who keeps moving farther and farther away from civilization's center to live a life away from castles, Kings, and priests. In another, Usxe Cucu sneaks into a nunnery to sleep with all of the nuns. Dressed as a nun himself, the abbess becomes notified of the presence of a male when all of the nuns become pregnant..._

"What are you reading?" RJ asked.

Falco looked up, "Cerinian Religion and Mythology."

RJ had a dark red fur, and hailed from the same region on Corneria as Fox McCloud. He was young. Barely counted as a veteran in Falco's eyes, despite the stories he proudly told about assaults on Kewish compounds. He was an expert in demolitions. But if it wasn't technical, he was hopeless, '"Sounds boring."

Dingo, a Tsudish lupin with a talisman around his neck was a bit more esoteric, "I get it: know thy enemy." He had all the usual equipment a Special Forces soldier would carry. Noticeable, however, was the enormous knife on his belt. It was a forty centimeter, full-tang blade that Dingo would often be sharpening lovingly by evening camp fires into a fine edge.

"Last time I was here, I didn't understand what was happening around me," Falco explained, "There were overzealous Saurians launching themselves at me with primed grenades in their hands. Others had ancient rifles swung like clubs, and so many with magic flaming staffs."

Jan looked over. He was an overly relaxed Sharpclaw. His face was lean and angular, one of the Venomics who looked down upon the uncultured Saurian Sharpclaw. He was a bit of a ladies man, and once told Falco he had six girls, "and Sundays to myself," and none were allegedly the same race, "Do you believe in that magic stuff?"

Falco wondered what the fuck they briefed them on out here, "I've had fireballs launched at me. I've seen my men frozen on tropical beaches and shattered into a million snow flakes like glass. Other times I've seen men in my squad completely morph into the enemy... yeah, it's real."

"'s crazy." Jan muttered under his breath. He was the team's sniper, and carried a combination rifle with the scope and sniper attachments fastened to his belt.

"How close are we?" RJ asked.

The driver of the vehicle shouted back at them, "Heading to the check point now. Thorntail Hollow was a little valley in the Greater Central Saurian Plain. The Thorntail were the main food source of some Green Cuej herders, and since they paid taxes to the CCC, fell under Cornerian dominion. Their religion, however, was problematic, centered around a single anomalous being that controlled teleportation along not fully mapped out energy channels on the planet.

Bill briefed all of them on this that morning before they left Cape Claw. The Stone Giant was now theirs, more or less. The unfortunate thing, according to Bill was that they still did not possess access to these channels of teleportation and they had to rely on keeping the Stone Giant happy since there was really nothing to threaten or use as leverage against him. The Stone Giant cared as much about his followers as an entomologist about his lab roaches.

However, there was something the Giant liked, which was abundant in the mines north of Cape Claw. Falco and his team were each given a piece of it.

They passed the final vehicle checkpoint and got out of the troop transport. All four of them were sweating in their winter gear: Dingo and RJ were panting as if their lives depended on it, Falco's feathers instinctively tried to open for ventilation, only Jan seemed to be enjoying the situation. Falco pondered briefly what it might be like to have a Sharpclaw sniper watching over you in the mountains. Would he react just a bit too slow in a firefight? Split seconds make all the difference there.

They were greeted by a well groomed canid in his field uniform and a pair of sunglasses, "Welcome to Thorntail Hollow. Colonel Arbeit, at your service."

"Nice to meet you." Falco said, "How's the Giant today?"

"A bit moody. Nothing unusual, frankly. Do you all have your rock _candy?" _

They all nodded, holding up large blocks of crystalline purple stones.

"Those are nice pieces. He'll like those." Arbeit led them to the stone gate, past modern-looking facilities plastered with their Thorntail Hollow Command insignia on the side, and serial numbers below. The Giant looked like a caricature of an ape surrounded by a shallow pool. A stony mountain walled in the area with a number of cave paintings (or what looked like them) lining the area as objects of devotion. It was an interesting setup. In his recent dabbling into the polytheist psyche, Falco had come to determine that a temple that housed a god, like many of the holy sites on Sauria, were built more for the worshipper than the worshipped. They were like guest houses. After all, more often than not the god was a piece of stone, little better than a brick, and cared not what its home could look like. Initially, Falco wondered, or still believed, that the Stone Giant would be the same, something akin to a system of ancient technology that was not quite understood, like underground irrigation channels below Walled City.

But this place was a temple made for the Stone Giant. It turned its head, which shocked Falco and he froze where he stood.

Colonel Arbeit went ahead first, "Let me talk to him first." He walked over in front of the Giant and said, "Hello..."

"I keep hoping," the Giant spoke in a thick accent, his booming voice echoing against the rough mountain wall, "You'll come here and speak Cuej to me."

"I've been studying up." Arbeit said, "I'm still quite rusty."

"You should come here and I could help you to study."

"Maybe another time. Right now I've got someone for you to meet."

"Always with the meetings." He sighed, "Well, bring them over."

Arbeit walked over to Falco, "You first. Try and charm him. Be nice."

"Charm. Nice." Falco almost laughed. He hefted the big purple gem and walked over to the spot in front of the Giant.

The Giant looked down at Falco with immense indifference, "Nobody brings me gifts anymore."

He motioned to the block in his hand, "I have this," he said.

"Tha's not a gift. Tha's a toll. You Cornerians come here and think you can just buy the whole planet."

"I don't think that," Falco said, "I'm not really Cornerian actually."

"No? What are you?"

"My grandfather was Zonesian."

"Ah. A good planet. There the old laws still apply. People still follow the gift-right and listen to their gods and guardians."

"I think you'd be surprised. There's not much of the traditional religion left on Zoness. Missions have taken over so much of the landscape..."

"'S focken tragic." The Giant looked like he was going to cry. Could sentient, animated pieces of rock do such a thing? "If I told you stories about the world I live in, it would blow your wee mortal mind."

"I'd like that."

"Nah, you'd never believe me."

"You're a big, talking rock. I'd believe most things you'd tell me."

That got a laugh out of him, "I s'pose so."

Falco held out the stone and said, "How about this, you take this toll now, and when I come back from the mission, we'll trade war stories."

"You promise me, Mr..." he took the rock candy from Falco with disbelieving hesitation.

"Colonel Falco Lombardi." He said, "And yes, I promise."

The Giant turned away, putting the rock away, and then held out his hand, a signal for Falco to step into it. He did, and the Giant lifted him up into the air as if he were no lighter than a feather. A strange tingling sensation inhabited the air around him. There was an electrified smell like ozone and then, almost like there was a whole bouquet presented to him, the scent of roses, and then chrysanthemums, and the world around him dissolved into a manifestation of light and gravity that pulled him in a dozen gentle directions, playing a game of vertigo with his body, as if he were flipping over and over in space.

And then as suddenly as it began, he was standing on a dome of blue glass on a stone mount. He was surrounded by stone. The only two lights in the cave were the eerie glow from the dome and the daylight coming in from the cave mouth a hundred meters away. He stepped off the dome and started walking towards the light at the end of the tunnel.

About ten minutes after he arrived through the portal, there was a musical sound and a bluish light that illuminated some of the carvings and stonework in the cave, but only for a moment. And then it was Dingo's abrasive voice: "Jeez laweez, Colonel, did you charm the Giant, or what?"

"What do you mean?" He was only half listening, still entranced by the beauty of what he just experienced.

"It took us a while to convince the Giant that we all needed to be sent _together_. He just didn't want to send anyone else after you." Dingo stepped off the dome and walked up behind Falco, hefting his weapon up to a combat ready position. There was another crystalline collection of music and RJ appeared, and finally Jan. RJ said nothing, just laughed, and Jan just took his weapon off his shoulder.

"Are we ready?" RJ asked.

"Let's just figure out where we are first." They'd all studied the maps, but terrain looked different when you marched along through it versus soaring above it. The four of them approached the mouth of the cave and gazed out for only a few seconds at the white-capped peaks and slopes dominated by a blanket of evergreens with their own covering of snow.

"I have an update." Dingo said, showing his comm link to Falco. A message from Command let them know a blizzard was in bound in less than six hours.

"Let's do this quickly." He handed the link back to Dingo, "Look there." Falco pointed to a rise out to the northeast.

"I see it, Colonel," Jan said. He pulled the zipper up and extra decimeter and checked to make sure the suit's thermals were working. He started off towards that rise, inspecting every so often around for the enemy.

"We need to head that way." Falco pointed northwest. There was nothing but more trees and snow. But that way was the hub of activity that they were being sent to investigate. He checked the weapon, fully loaded, turned off the safety, and pulled down his snow visor, "Let's do it."

They jogged into the wilderness as much under the cover of trees as as possible. There were a few sections where they had to cross open fields and their guard was high. It was a relief to hear, "In position," from Jan and know he could see the target.

"What do you see?"

"Just a couple herders. Two Cutubxa by their langurs. They're sitting on a rock drinking ukuu out of a horn."

"Sounds nice," RJ said.

"Anything else?"

"Just langur yaks." Jan said, "What's your position, Colonel?"

"We're in Sector 18."

"I see you."

They were about five kilometers from the target, "Stop." He waved RJ and Dingo toward him. Falco crouched down in the snow and drew out a small diagram. The target was at Sector 29, "Jan, where are the herders?"

"Southeast corner of 29."

"All right. Dingo, you approach from 18. I'll go from 28. On my mark, Dingo goes first and then you, RJ. Jan, only if things get sticky." He kicked at the snow, destroying the map, "Clear?"

"Clear," came three voices in unison. He and Dingo set out westward and kept their eyes peeled for that cerulean blue they'd come to associate with death.

"What's your reading tell you about this situation, Colonel?"

"It's not quite like that," Falco said.

"What's it like?"

"It's like..." he thought for a second, "It's like when I'm in the middle of a fight, I can be inside his head. It's less about situation. More about intuition."

Dingo's silence told him all.

"We're at the corner of Sector 18." He said, giving Dingo the signal to stay put, "I'll ping when I reach 28."

"Copy," Dingo said, crouching down and staring intently through the trees.

Falco continued to trudge through the trees until he crossed over the border to Sector 28. He wanted to find a better striking point, but felt that the woods – uniformly pristine as an endless arrangement of trees and evenly arranged snow – wasn't going to offer much advanced cover.

A flash of blue fur entered his field of vision. He ducked behind a tree and held his rifle out and pointed toward the enemy. He was obscured by a tree he was sitting against. Falco could see his knee sticking out from the sitting position, a hand resting calmly on the cap. Across his lap, visible only slightly by the gold head pulsing like a heart beat, was a staff.

_Telepath_.

He was wearing a white woolen parka, ritual patterns were woven into the fabric over his chest and shoulders. It was an interesting reversal of traditional white-or-blue fur, now adapted to the snow. Falco ducked back behind the tree.

His mind was running wild. He pulled the silencer out of its compartment on his belt and screwed it onto the tip of his rifle.

When he went to look back at the telepath to take out one less objection to the mission, he was gone.

There was a crunch of snow behind him. Falco whirled just in time to block an incoming barrage of fire bolts at his head. He instinctively raised his rifle, which absorbed the bolts, and then half of the components melted. He dropped the gun and rolled to the side, avoiding another swarm of bolts. Falco took out his knife in one hand and his pistol in the other. He ducked out from his cover and fired three shots at the telepath.

It spun the staff in an unreal way, a way that blocked blaster fire that were impossible to deflect for any ordinary person, or any technology in the CDF. Falco stood his ground, refusing to let the fear take over. A natural response, but one he didn't have to give in to. He'd been in worse fights before.

The Telepath had a focused look in his eyes. His lips moved at hummingbird speeds muttering mantras of... protection, probably.

_Let him attack first, then aim for his head. _

The Telepath stepped forward and swung the rear end of the staff at him. It stopped suddenly, and Falco expected some sort of attack to come out at him. But nothing did.

The panicked look in the Telepath's eyes told him something had just gone wrong. He repeated the move, with the same dull lack of effect. This was the kind of stuff that made Falco realize it was just a piece of wood.

Without warning, the staff clicked, and the ends consumed the shaft until it was a set of head and tail no bigger than Falco's knife. The Telepath went from panicked to cornered. His most loyal companion had just abandoned him. He flicked the weapon with a snap of his wrist, and that too failed him.

Falco aimed the blaster at his center mass and the weapon coughed twice.

He walked up to the Telepath's body and bent down next to it. The staff was buried deep in a snow hole of its own shape, glowing faintly at both ends. Knowing he shouldn't, Falco reached out and picked it up.

The weapon immediately extended and the whole staff breathed a series of ghastly blue flames that were neither hot nor cold.

His comm link crackled to life, "Colonel?"

The staff collapsed back to its carrying mode, "Here."

"We're waiting on your command."

"Give me a second. I had some trouble." He looked at the melted hunk of his rifle in the snow. Not ideal, but he still had his pistol and knife, "My rifle has been totaled. So I'm down to my secondary weapons."

"I'll take point then, Colonel?"

"When you have a clear shot, RJ."

"Copy. Three. Two. One." Two silent shots rang out, hitting the Cutubxa herders in their chests. They were dead before they his the snow.

"Move in."

The three of them started descending on the target in Sector 29. Jan remained silent. As usual, no news was good news. RJ got to the herders first, "Swords. Barely a threat."

Falco heard Bill's voice in his head.

"Colonel, look up there." Dingo had his rifle pointed northward into the forest. It was hard to see from a different angle, like Jan's, but clear form here: a long wooden palisade that ran the length of the forest just a few dozen meters back behind the tree line, "A native fortress of some kind?"

"Let's see." Falco raised his weapons and said, "Dingo, you first." The Lupine trotted forward, scanning the tree line for the enemy. RJ followed, leaving some distance between them, and Falco followed at the end, "Can you see us in the woods, Jan?"

"I'll let you know when you're in."

They passed the trees and looked up and down the palisade walls. They ran as far as they could see in either direction and were three times the height of a person.

"Any ideas?" Dingo turned around.

RJ dug at the foot of the wall with his boot, "I think it's for animals, not for us." He kept digging and found that he could pass right underneath once he hit the frozen ground.

"Hold on," Falco ordered, "I don't like this."

"You want to try and find an entrance?" RJ asked.

"I certainly don't like the idea of just crawling one at a time without recon into an unknown area."

"Let's find a door then."

"You copy, Jan? We're heading eastward along the wall." Falco chimed.

"I can't really see much, but I'll keep an eye out."

A half hour of walking revealed a doorway, unguarded, and a darker world. The storm would be descending upon them soon and lock them on the mountain if they didn't hurry up.

Dingo stuck the muzzle of his gun through the gateway, "It just looks like more forest." He went through, followed by RJ and Falco. The forest on the other side was still and silent, with snow drifting gently off the branches of the trees and lazily swirling to the ground.

"Anything?" Jan asked over the link.

"Just trees and snow." Falco reported. Maybe Krystal was right...

A hand wrapped around his beak and pulled him to the ground. He felt an electric shock reach into his side and stab him.

Dingo heard the struggle and turned, just in time for a ghost of his past to aim at point blank range and shoot out his eye. RJ managed to fire off a shot... that went wide. The ghost shot him, too.

Falco's mind screamed, but the electric current coursing through him kept his body lifeless and immobile, like he was possessed by some passive demon.

Some audio managed to get from his ears to his brain. Jan: "What's going on?" No response. There is no one to respond, "Copy? Colonel? Is everything all right?"

The ghost turned to him.

_No_.

A familiar face.

_It can't be_.

One he hadn't seen since the beach...


	17. Fox IV

**Chapter 17: Fox IV**

He bent down and removed the comm link from Falco's ear. He tossed it in the snow and looked at his dead teammates. A canid and a vulpid. The line between symbolic and coincidental was rather thin.

"Sniper?" Emerald asked, picking up the link and examining it.

"Yeah. Probably not far off." He stared at Falco's body as it slowly recovered from the paralysis.

"How much time do you think we have?" She tossed the link a bit farther away.

Give it fifteen minutes before we really get worried." Fox bent over and picked up Falco's knife. The aviad managed to pick up his arm and push himself up to an agonizing position. His head was still heavy, his lungs still sucking in arctic air.

"Sorry about that, Falco," Fox stabbed the knife into the ground. He looked over at Emerald, "We couldn't risk you getting jumpy. I know how when you have a hammer, everything looks like a nail, you know?"

His voice picked up from a groan, to a growl, and finally a roar as he got to his knees, launched himself forward, and grabbed the knife.

It wasn't out of the ground yet, when Emerald charged her weapon, aiming it at Falco's beak, "Easy there..."

Fox looked up at her and the causal way she held a blaster rifle. Her short hair reminded him of her, but the ease around machinery, the warm familiarity with machines of destruction, was something new he couldn't help but admire.

"We just want to talk." Fox put a hand on the end of the handle, just over Falco's thumb.

_He won't talk to you_.

_Not the time, Dad_.

"Is that why you killed my men?"

"I'm sorry about that." Fox stared into Falco's eyes. Rage. He thought about late night beer-sessions on the _Fox._ Misery. About the knife he held on the beach. Pain.

"I'm not." Emerald said. Fox could hear the unspoken insult at the end of her sentence: _colonizers_.

"You think they would have let us talk to you?"

"Us, huh?" Falco was breathing heavily. Clouds of perspiration testified to the fires kindling inside of him, "Fine. Say it and kill me. That's how this ends, right?"

_What are you doing? _He could see James in his peripherals.

"We fought on the same side twenty years ago..." he started. "I..." Falco only seemed to seethe more, "Falco. We were friends. I know a lot has happened in twenty years. A lot that I'm sure has us on opposite sides now."

"So what?"

_See, he doesn't want to listen._

"What the fuck does that mean at all..."

_You already knew that_.

"... now?"

"Do you remember Zoness?"

Falco said nothing, but turned his face away violently.

"Yeah... me too. We were hanging out in that dive bar a world away. It was like fate brought us back together."

"I should have minded my own business on the subway."

"Hey, I would've done the same thing. You don't see many people reading these days. Or those days, either."

Falco said nothing.

"At the first mention of flying, you took me up on it. I hardly had to give you details..."

_Careful..._

"I was always a fool. Corneria took my brain at birth as much as it took my wings."

"Falco," Fox said, "I gave you wings back then..."

_Don't... _

"I can do it again."

Faster than he ever imagined, Falco had drawn the knife from the ground and had pinned Fox to the snow, the blade just kissing his throat, "I hate you!" He screamed, "If only I'd known what would have happened next and I would have know to tell you to _fuck off!_" Emerald ran over, rifle in hand and held the muzzle up to Falco's face. Fox held his hand out to hold her back.

"You were a drifter," Fox could barely focus with the blade against his neck, "You were drowning. That night you were trying to kill..."

"_Fuck you! _You had no right!"

"Was I supposed to let you die?"

"I _loved _her!" Tears were coming down his face and beak and dripping onto Fox's forehead, "_And you took me away!" _Falco was fueled by the furnace of his memories, rage and wrath forcing the blade closer to Fox's throat, to finish on this icy mountain what he should have done a decade ago on the beach.

Emerald smashed her rifle into his head. Falco fell off of him, rolling over in the snow, with his stunted wings flying to protect his skull from another blow.

Fox kicked the knife away, sending it flying into the quickening darkness. Emerald looked at him with a smug look in her eyes, "Were you expecting this?"

He looked down at Falco, his hands still trying to steady his spinning vision. Fox's own hands couldn't stop touching his neck, just glad it was still there, "There's a lot of variables."

"You met him on a subway car?"

"Yes."

"And in a bar on Zoness?"

"It's a long story." Falco looked a lot now like he did back then: his head held like a burdensome weight on his neck. You could practically hold his heart in your hand. A glass of jinn and tonic was in one hand. Two empty double shots next to the other. _Hey, you look like a guy I met last year._

_Yeah... you look familiar. _

_It's been an interesting year for me..._

_Me, too..._

Falco looked over at them, "Please, just finish this."

For the tiniest moment, Fox considered it, "No."

"Then, why?" Falco's voice broke, now on the edge of exasperation, "Why find me? Why bring this shit up?"

"I found the _Great Fox_." Emerald looked at him, "_She_ and her friends found it. They got the _Fox _running. Found Slippy, too. He's been alive all these years. We're trying to... to reunite the band, so to speak."

"And do what?" Falco laughed, "Barrel roll into Corneria City and make a suicidal assault on... who? What? The Redwood Palace? The legislature? The CDF? Do you know what an _Iron Triangle_ is? It's the organization that wraps Corneria in a shield, one you can't hope to penetrate."

"The same one that turned you into their drone?"

He stood and pointed an accusatory finger at Fox, "You don't _fucking _know what a thirty-six hour Session of Justice and Repentance is like." He smiled menacingly, "If you're curious, though, I can have one arranged."

"Falco," Fox pleaded, "we're here to offer a way out."

"You offered me a way out twenty years ago. I should have told you to take StarFox and shove it up your tail."

"So you're going to keep serving the beast? The same beast that tortured you? That killed your friends? That still holds them in prison?"

"Nah, you don't get it, do you? I don't work for you, any more."

A moment of silence passed. The world got visibly darker, but maybe it was just the blizzard. His trigger finger twitched and his whole hand started to shake.

"You gonna shoot me now?"

Something glinted in the distance. Fox's instincts kicked in and he turned toward Emerald. She looked at him, and saw the way his face was processing information, a Fox she hadn't seen before, and he dove at her, planting them flat on the snow as a sniper's bolt sliced through the space they'd just abandoned.

Falco bolted in the direction of the source.

Emerald rolled to get a better sight of Falco. She put him in her sights, but Fox was already pulling her to her feet, and through the snow and trees.

"This isn't the way to the bikes!" she shouted.

"They can track them!" Fox kept running with her hand tightly gripped. Red bolts lanced through the icy air. Some were just too high, or deflecting through the bark of nearby trees. He'd been here before, years and years ago. It was far from the best escape plan.

"Where are you taking us?"

And then there it was: a sudden cliff revealing nothing but iron colored rocks, ice, and snow. A hundred meters below was a lake fed by the summer melt, as deep as Sauria's most sunken pools, and as still as empty space. From this height, the cold was almost visible, "We have to jump."

Her eyes went wide, "Are you crazy?"

"It's a hundred meters into freezing water. Yes, I am. Let's jump." He saw Dad in his peripherals. _You have to. _

She ripped her arm from his grip and looked back. They could just make out the figures of camouflaged soldiers between the trees. Behind them, open sky and a hundred meters of gravity-bound freezing water.

Emerald turned and planted her feet, lifting the rifle to a firing position, "Where'd they go?" There was nothing but the whistling wind and gently dancing snowflakes. Falco and his grunt had disappeared...

Something heavy bounced in front of them and landed at their feet with a metallic beep.

Instinct gripped him again, wrapping a claw around his brainstem. He wrapped his hand around Emerald's arm and jumped.

She screamed.

Fox pulled her into a tight hug and dead-weighted his back. Above them the grenade exploded. Shrapnel followed their descent. He took his hand and held her snout closed.

They slammed into the water, his back instantly numbing from the icy shock, the burning pain spreading to his limbs and neck.

The cold shocked her too and Emerald fought to open her mouth and scream. He held it shut until she realized the dangers of doing so and calmed down.

He opened his eyes. Sunlight was quickly disappearing as they sank and the blizzard descended above them. She looked up to the surface. Fox shook his head. Emerald made a gesture to her mouth. She was becoming desperate. Above them were red lances from Andross' demons. In a few hours, Fox's instincts and the Saurian blizzard would have them turned into icicles.

And in here was a breathless, deep, abyss.

He pulled her close and pressed his mouth to her. He breathed for her, what little he had left, and then held her body as the darkness and the cold wrapped around them, piercing them to the core.


	18. Falco V

**Chapter 18: Falco V**

Rain battered the window. The Aburros coast slid slowly past them as trees and fields whizzed in front of the train car window in a blur of gold and green. He had a small backpack with a change of clothes and Parseti's _Sky Kings, Dead Kings. _In his pocket was his link and on that his ticket for the space port.

There was only one other person in the car. A small vulpid with red fur and a blue uniform. He had his nose buried in his comm link, intently studying a highlighted manuscript.

The train entered a tunnel and the rain and darkness was replaced by the stonewall blackness.

Maybe it was because of the way he missed his mother. Or maybe it was the way he left things with his Father. Either way he wandered over towards the vulpid and sat across from him, "What are you reading?" he asked.

"My flight manual." The vulpid looked up. He eyed Falco up and down. He was in a light brown jacket with a military insignia on the arm – a falcon clutching lightning bolts. Their clothing, style, and manner was just off. The vulpid too rigid for Falco. The aviad too loose for the vulpid, "I'm in my final year at the Academy."

"Sounds fun."

"Where you headed?"

"Spaceport. Same as you. Gonna ride up the elevator and catch a rig for Zoness."

"Have you ever been to space before?"

"No." Sadness crept into his voice. He thought about Mother's wings. How so many songs she sang lamented the thin Cornerian air. Too thin for Zonesian wings. How her son was born with stunted muscles and shortened, dense bones, like his Father.

_You'll regret it_.

He looked up, "What'd you say?"

"I said you'll _love_ it. Being out there, surrounded by endless stars. You feel... free."

Falco liked the thought of that, "I'm hoping I'll feel that way on Zoness."

_You won't_.

The Cadet's face looked two decades older. He'd grown from someone youthful and promising to someone feared and fearful. Falco felt him reach out and wrap his hands around his throat. "This is a dream," Falco said, "Just a dream. You can't hurt me."

_No. This is your life. You are weak. _

"It's not true." He claimed, "My mother..."

_She lied. You are weak. The colonizer made you weak. And now you serve him in your weakness. You were born this way. You will die this way. _

He woke up, drawing his knife and rising into an alert, high adrenaline rush. It took him a long moment to realize this was his quarters at the main Cape Claw Command. And it wasn't a knife he'd drawn, it was the staff, fully extended and glowing a blue-white that had him creeped out if he wasn't already trying to abandon his dreams.

Another knock at his door. It must have been what woke him in the first place, "Colonel Lombardi?"

He looked at the staff. Keeping it was technically illegal...

"_Close_," he whispered. Nothing happened.

"Colonel Lombardi?" He called again.

"Just a minute!" Falco called back. He shook the staff, which seemed indifferent to Falco's pleading. His thoughts rushed in an unordered storm of slight panic, _Please, just close. _

And it did, with a wooden _click _and full darkness once more in his quarters. He reached over and turned on the lights. He hid the shrunken staff haphazardly beneath his pillow and then reached for the door. There was an officer standing there with his hat tucked under his arm and an iron look on his face, "General Grey requests your presence, sir." He turned and walked off, just muttering, "Main floor conference room."

Falco closed the door and walked over to his sink at the back of his quarters and splashed water on his face, his feathers dripping and soaked as he stared at himself unsure of how exactly he got here. There were some space flights and beaches, a day and a half of ideological struggle, a wedding. A red-feathered aviad, a pink feline, a tan vulpid. One red vulpid.

He dried his face and tried to imagine he was back on the beaches of the Rift Junction Isles, naked except for a pair of ripped swim trunks, feathers open and wind-filled, the Lylat sun baking his feathers.

And then his visualization was suddenly over. He was in his full white uniform. Medals and campaign ribbons pinned to his chest. Bill was sitting calmly, looking over his link with the dead faces of RJ and Dingo on the screen above them.

"We debriefed Jan an hour ago." Bill said, calmly looking off into a distant corner of the room, "Of course, he wasn't present for the most interesting events of the mission."

Falco gave his report, from meeting the Stone Giant to trekking through the snow. He got to the point where they split to approach the herders at different angles to where Falco ended up encountering a Telepath.

"Were you injured?"

"No."

"But you did leave your rifle?"

"The major components had melted."

Bill sighed, "Did you recover anything from the Telepath's body? Any artifacts of use?"

He could feel the way it coughed blue flame into the mountain chill and the way it called his name even now. He thought distinctly of how it abandoned its master in its moment of need and obeyed him. "No."

"Continue."

Falco led Bill through the two herders' deaths, to the wooden palisade, and then to the seemingly empty wood beyond. His memory then seemed to blank out. CDF debriefings were more about evaluating a soldier's mental state than actual assessment of the mission. After all, memory was so easily distorted, manipulated, even cultivated. As it was, Falco was already painfully aware of the symbiotic relationship between emotion and memory. Just thinking of the casual way Fox killed off members of his team filled him with rage. That rage brought him back to Zoness. To Ave as her tears and anger mixed. Rage at how small-minded he'd been revealed to be. The rage that drove him away from the only place, the only other person, the only way of life where he felt like he...

"And then what?"

Falco forgot where he was. He took a moment to look around the room: gray interior, no windows, General William Grey, white uniforms, the faces of dead men on the screen. Sauria. Ice Mountains. Central Command, "I'm not sure."

"You're not sure."

"Fox McCloud and another person – a native – appeared."

"And they killed your two team members."

"Yes."

"Why did you survive?"

Silence.

"Seems curious given your historic relationship." He pushed a button on his link and a decades-old report came up:

Assessment of Psychological Stability and Loyalty

in Lieutenant Falco Lombardi.

73 a.U.

Falco cringed when he saw the name of the Inquisitor that attended his platoon to Sauria a decade ago.

Bill read from the file: "There are seven indications of a Traitor. (1) A family history of disloyalty or non-conformity. Lombardi's family were forced into refugee status scraping by in Corneria City's lower income, immigrant districts. This has been a breeding ground for anti-government demonstrations of violence though there is no indication that the Lombardi family was ever involved in them. A one-half point. (2) A personal history of non-conformity. At a young age, Lombardi forsook a traditional higher education in favor of a one-way ticket to Zoness where he lived on a beach community with historic ties to Zonesian exiles."

His mouth dropped. How did they know...?

"Shortly afterward he joined StarFox. A full point. (3) Verbal acts of non-conformity or anti-authority. Lombardi is often tight lipped. This is most likely an effort to amend for a past of non-conformist tendencies. No points. (4) Physical acts of non-conformity or anti-authority. See above. No points. (5) Hesitation to follow orders. After taking prisoners during the actions in the hills above Cape Claw, Lombardi ordered them executed. Among them was a previous associate and commanding officer: Fox McCloud. When his order was superseded by an Inquisitor to execute McCloud himself, Lombardi hesitated. In that time, the Aparoid attack disrupted the execution and McCloud escaped in the ensuing chaos. By design or by accident, Lombardi's hesitation enabled the escape of an enemy of the state. One full point."

"That..."

Bill looked up. Falco failed to meet his eye. He looked down and continued, "(6) Unrelated instability, anger, or violent outbursts. Lombardi fails to make long lasting friends. Even close subordinates and other men he serves with label him _cold _or _unrelatable_. Falco's one true vice seems to be long sessions tiring himself out in the gym practicing new forms of martial arts, though even this has plateaued as teachers refuse to work with him, as a result of Incident FLom 10-16-72 when he put a boxing instructor out of commission with a traumatic concussion. A long list of traumatic injuries precede that event."

Falco had never felt more like a monster in his life, "I get it," he said so softly that Bill probably didn't even hear him.

"Finally, (7) unexplained or frequent failure to achieve objectives." He put the file down and cited from memory, "For all the suspicion heaped upon him, Lombardi is among the highest caliber of soldiers, and achieves a steady 90-100% of mission objectives, without fail."

Falco met his eye.

"Until yesterday."

"There were extenuating circumstances."

"Dingo, dead. RJ, dead. Failure to locate any anomalies. Failure to discover the source of Krystal's primary concern. Failure to capture or kill Fox McCloud."

"That wasn't a mission objective."

"It was a fourth level objective!" Bill was shouting, "A standing order for all CDF personnel. You _know that!_ Two out of seven objectives completed: you and Jan alive. Failure of 72%."

"We located the palisade wall, which was previously unknown." Falco said, "An anomaly found."

"Some half-buried sticks?"

"And the possibility that Krystal was telling the truth should be considered."

"What are you talking about?"

"Her priority is to protect her people, as much as it's our duty to protect ours. Just like you said. So it's not out of the realm of possibility, even plausibility that to maintain her power base, she needs to show supporters that she'll defend their livelihoods."

Bill seemed to consider this.

Falco continued: "What we found was a wooden palisade. Primitive for any defensive purpose, but perfectly reasonable if we consider that the preciousness of what they were guarding amounts to a herd of yaks."

"I'll consider it, and send out someone to investigate. Someone _else_." He stood, "In the meantime, there's this business with Fox McCloud to consider."

"Give me a ship. I'll track him down. I didn't _hesitate _last time, I certainly won't hesitate now."

"You want me to give you a ship?" Bill was incredulous.

"Yes. I'll kill him, and settle this once and for all."

The General looked down at the report on the table and flicked the screen so it began spinning to the conclusion, "Four and a half points against. And you think I should give you a ship?"

"Yes."

"What happens if you fly away and _I_ have to explain that?"

The room was deafeningly silent, "All I can offer," there was a long pause as he considered how ridiculous he sounded, "Is my record."

"Your record does show a high objective completion rate, but when it comes to Fox McCloud..." he gestured to the report, "the record gets fuzzy."

"So you can understand why I'd want to set the record straight."

"I do." Bill stood up. It did not escape Falco that Bill was Fox's roommate through four years of Flight Academy. Was he hoping Falco would betray them? Did he envy the opportunity? "I'll contact Corneria and see what they say. Until then, don't make any noise."

Falco saluted, "Thank you, sir."

"Anything I should know before I dismiss you?"

His eyes bored a hole through him and to the staff hidden haphazardly beneath his pillow, "No, sir."

"Dismissed."


	19. Zamo III

**Chapter 19: Zamo III**

They never stayed at the same cave twice. As He could understand it, they were nomads, forever meant to wander through the mountains and mushtrees and drink from a new corner of the silver river as often as not. Mother would usually return with a fresh kill and would give it to Brother and Sister. It seemed as if He was expected to dine with them. Sister saw his revulsion and weaned him early on, beginning by delivering a leg all his own. But eventually, He joined Brother and Sister for the feast.

The caves were all uniformly warm and safe. Mother always slept near the opening with her snout sticking out. He and Brother and Sister would all play on the days when Mother would hunt on her own. On other days, she would wake up her children and bring them all to hunt together. He was never going to be as fast or as strong as them, but when they were on the scent of something, Sister or Brother would pick him up by the scruff of his neck and throw him across their back. He'd hang onto their fur like his life depended on it, and arrive at the kill site with the rest of the family.

There was one dark day where Mother returned to the cave with the day's kill in her jaws. He didn't join Brother and Sister to the feast because he was entranced by the walls of the cave. They were smooth and worn by water, wind, and their previous inhabitants. As he touched them, he could feel the weight of time press down on his shoulders. The day got darker and darker, the sun streak disappearing entirely from the sky until total blackness covered everything. Brother found him by scent and they started to play a game in total blindness. And then flashes of light transformed everything from total dark to total light as even the molecules in the air seemed to be alive for just that snapshot of time.

Behind Brother's enormous form he saw glyphs and pictures covering the wall. At the very center was a white eyed vulpid, nine stars in one hand, a glowing golden staff in the other. He was surrounded by an eight-point saga that he had to wait for another flash of lightning to complete.

A flash of light. At the upper right corner was the blue vulpid commanding the stars forward, and the millions of creatures that were his dominion.

Flash. Directly to the right, in the westward quadrant of the epic was a red vulpid: the unknown son of the god. He only knew the love and blood of one parent, was beholden to the truth. And he was running from his lack of divinity.

Flash. In the northwest there were rays of hope. The red vulpid and his lover find solace in the dark times: solace, peace, and love in each other. They wrap their arms, they intertwine their tails, she stares into his eyes, and he gives everything to her.

At the next flash, the thunder scared him to match the frightening image at the northern sector: the hero was gone. The woman, her belly swollen with life, the evil god's hands reaching out to consume her and her son. But his arms weren't long enough. Only the edges of his stars and the violence of their piercing rays strike through her belly and touch the heart of the baby, putting a drop of the divine in him.

The cycle begins to close. A child is born with not two, but three parents: a mother, a father, and the stuff of stars. He is hidden inside a sacred cauldron where the god cannot find him.

At full east, the direction of rebirth, the cauldron bursts, cracking like an egg shell, as power and starlight emanate anew into the cosmos.

Almost finished, in the south east, the new cauldron child gathers all of his strength and makes on great assault on his grandfather's starry realm.

At full south, as a crown above the creator, sat his grandson, the new king of the universe, more silver than blue. Forever an alien, filled with the shadows of space.

Sister walked over. She picked him up by the scruff of his neck until he shooed her away. What frightened and entranced Him was just how _off _the images were. The stories that Khafu told him, they were the exact opposite: that Usxe Cucu was defeated by the Lords of the Nine Stars and their chosen were selected to rule over the myriad cosmos. That chosen one was Nau the Sanctified, who was the ancestor of the First Xikibki.

But that story was last told to him a lifetime ago...

Mother woke them up just as the sunstreak peaked over the horizon. They gathered by her and started walking. They didn't always cluster in such a tight group. As the day wore on, they'd separate and rejoin, expanding their tight knit pack like breath into lungs and then contracting again on the exhale, finding each other and continuing onward. Sometimes Brother or Sister would report something with grunts and growls, and other times Mother would hurry them up to prepare for the hunt. Once, he was able to show that he'd found a jewelberry bush and the pack moved with him toward it.

This time, the pack inhaled and he started wandering off toward the sun streak. He enjoyed the warmth, was getting used to the Autumn air that passed for summertime on this colder world, but still missed real warmth.

He found a great big jewelberry bush as tall as Mother by a great cliff that overlooked the foggy mushtrees and a silver river snaking through the forest. He started to round the bush when a figure suddenly popped into his view. It had orange hair all along his body and a wide, black face. Long gangly arms with rippling muscles rested hands with monstrous palms on his knees. He instinctively dropped to all fours and crouched underneath a branch of the bush.

The ape turned its head towards him, listening carefully. He stopped breathing and laid as still as possible.

"I know you're there," he said in a calm, booming voice, like the sound of a planet's rotation, "I can't hear you, or see you. The Vulpodon taught you well. But I _know _you're there. She cannot teach you _that_."

He didn't like that the ape spoke to him. Oral communication was something that his brain had categorized under _Sauria. _Here under _Kadw_, no one spoke. They used grunts and sniffs, motions and gestures. Someone using the language of his people was as unexpected as finding a mandala cave painting in a lightning storm.

"Well, maybe we should go see her, then, if you won't come to me." The ape stood. He could see that the meditator wore a long blue half-robe. He started walking along the forest floor with his stunted legs, avoiding dragging his arms along the ground by holding them up in a position that resembled a doctor keeping his hands sterile. He followed the ape at a side-ways distance, always watching him look over into the brush.

When the ape called an animalistic noise into the air and Mother approached, followed by a confused look from Brother and Sister, he was sure there was about to be a battle.

Instead, Mother approached the ape and lowered her head. He pet her on the snout and whispered to her, "I know. I know. But I am not the right one."

Mother called him from the brush and licked his face. The ape started off into the mush trees and they all followed him. The ape didn't wander through the trees but uncovered trails that he felt stupid not to notice before that moment. There were blazes on the trees, exposed earth from so many feet trodding the same ground over and over again. He felt only ridiculous seeing it now. Mother and the others didn't seem to acknowledge it even as they walked it. She followed the ape, they followed her, and not for the first time in his life, he found himself caught between worlds.

The ape led them for a good long time, all the way to a series of cylindrical columns, each decorated with faded glyphs and decaying carvings. Vines crept at breakneck speeds to clothe the structures, making them look more and more formed of wood and lead than of stone. Mother ignored them. Brother and Sister ran up to each one as if to examined it for uniqueness. They couldn't all be the same, could they?

Sister crept over to him. She seemed to sense that something was about to change. He could tell as well. He nuzzled her nose and tried to assure her that he could feel it too, but that Mother was unconcerned and so should they be.

The vines slowly gave way to stone. The ground they walked on was expertly placed slab. When he stopped and looked back, he noticed how the columns weren't random formations either, but placed in even intervals along the plane, all leading up to the mountain which melded seamlessly into the structure they were standing on. At the edge of the platform, on another ledge overlooking the forest was a blue vulpid, like him, but in long blue robes with runes woven into the fabric. He was sitting tall, his back straight, hands resting in his lap, eyes half-open, a golden staff resting delicately on a pillow of air in front of him.

He registered their presence, but didn't react. The ape turned to Him and the vulpodons and held a finger to his lips. Mother lowered her head and then sat on her haunches. Brother and Sister followed, and then He saw them and obeyed.

There was a change in the air and the ape walked over to the meditating vulpid. They spoke in silence for the shortest of moments and then the ape ran back to them, "We'll leave."

He stood.

"Not you."

He looked at Mother and the Siblings. They looked back at him with calm understanding. Mother walked over to him and gave a great lick, covering his face, his body, and arms. He jumped up and hugged her snout, "Don't leave me..." he cried.

Sister grabbed him by his scruff and pulled him off. She turned him around and licked the tears off his face. _We have to_. He hugged her around the neck and she nuzzled him. Brother came over and licked him from chest to ears.

And then they were gone. The vulpid came over. His robe was long and his hid body. He looked at it and was repulsed.

"Zamo." He spoke. When was the last time anybody spoke his name? To Mother and Brother and Sister, he was just the other. He was Two-legs. He looked at the stranger. He growled, "I'm not much for speaking, either. But until you learn otherwise, you'll use the Saurian tongue with me."

He looked back into his memory and accessed the same part of his brain where Krazoa Palace and Wudtod Khafu and Manu lay dormant, but not dead, "Who? Who are you?"

"You may call me _Cumu_."

"Cumu. I don't want a _Cumu." _

"What you want doesn't matter. You were born for a higher purpose."

"A higher purpose?"

"Yes. One that will see you back on Sauria before the end. How long were you in the wilderness?"

"How... long?"

"Of course. You wouldn't know." He reached a hand over to Zamo's forehead and touched him lightly in between the ears. Flashes overtook him. The doorway. Manu. The blue light at the farmers' house. Sharpclaw. Sister throwing him in the air. Shredded mushtrees. The silver river. Mother picking him up.

"Five years on your own." Cumu walked back toward the ledge, "The vulpodons have taught you well. But they cannot teach you what you need to know next."

"What do I need to know?" He demanded.

"For starters, serenity."

He spat.

"Come, Zamo. Sit with me a while. Meditate with me on the sunstreak before nightfall."

Zamo knew instinctively that he couldn't run from the Cumu. Even if he tried, he could probably snap his fingers and life him into the air. He'll have to wait until Cumu falls asleep. He walked over to where Cumu was sitting. Cumu picked up the staff and set it in front of himself as easily and simply as if he was setting it on a table. They sat there staring into the distance, thinking on nothing, letting the waves of thought rush over him like so many storms. When at last the sunstreak set, Cumu stood and stretched systematically extending each of his muscles until they were all well liberated. He removed his robes and formed them into a bed and went to sleep.

Zamo watched him with detached interest.

"Go to sleep, Zamo."

He lied down and let his mind focus on the task at hand. Even if he intended on sleeping, he felt too exposed. There should be stone above him, not stars. There would be someone blocking the forest from reaching toward him.

When he finally decided Cumu was asleep. He stood up, carefully, quietly, and started running into the mushtrees and as far away as he could go. The forest was a blur of endless shadow. He had little way of knowing where he was. He focused on his sense of smell and when he whiffed the trail of the vulpodon, he seized it with both nostrils and ran as fast as his legs could carry him. He would be with Mother again and her comforting gaze, with Brother and his games, Sister and her affection.

The trail led to a cave. Yes, a cave! But he stopped when he tripped over a rock on the slope up to the mouth. He recognized this cave. Clouds began to rumble above him. He entered the cave and sniffed. The vulpodons were here. And so was he. Lightning flashed behind him. The mural on the wall lit up like a screen. A god in the center, his grandson who filled with darkness, and ultimately defeating him...

"Is this what you came for?"

He whirled and dropped to all fours. Cumu was standing at the mouth of the cave in his robe. Zamo bared his teeth and snarled.

"You're not a vulpodon. You're Rha Zamo Tehzo. You will act like this no longer."

All his life, a Mother protected him. Now it was time to act for himself. He leapt at Cumu, claws out, teeth bared, aiming for his neck.

A great flash of light. The staff was out. It's dull end caught him by the collar bone, and swung him to the ground. Everything went black as the wind left his lungs in a rush and then slowly returned. All the lethality was removed from his attack. He stared up at Cumu, at the mural above them both.

"You're a child. Just as you are, you're only better than a baby. If you're going to fulfill your destiny, if you're ever going to discover what that means, you'll need to abandon your _self. _If you're ever going to discover who you _are_."


	20. Fox V

**Chapter 20: Fox V**

When he opened his eyes, he was staring at a ceiling. There were heavy wooden rafters above him flickering from black to orange with the irregular metronome of the fireplace. He could hear wind outside besieging the walls. Out the other ear he could hear drums, flutes, ocarinas, and laughter.

Behind him a voice, _You're alive_. It sounded like his father.

He looked up. There was a Cutubxa sitting in a crude chair with an old flask of ukuu watching them. Fox tried to sit up but found a heavy weight on his chest. He looked down. Emerald. It took him a moment to realize they were both undressed.

"Your clothes are up there." The local pointed to a clothesline between the rafters. Fox couldn't help but feel a bit awkward that some Cutubxa had unclothed them both and stuffed them into a fur sack. Then again, they were probably dying of hypothermia by that point, so given the options: lying next to a naked woman or freezing to death...

"When you're ready, feel free to join us, Captain." He stood and walked to the door to join the festivities.

"What are you all celebrating?" He couldn't help but feel the opposite of celebrating: they lost. There was no celebration to be had.

"The blizzard. The battle."

"Doesn't seem like much to celebrate."

"You know what we say? In victory, praise the gods. In defeat, praise the gods." He left the room and let the door slam behind him.

He looked down towards Emerald. With her eyes closed, hair let down, her hand on his chest, he almost couldn't take it. He wanted to rest a hand against her head pretend he was somewhere else, somewhen else, someone else...

_You don't have to do any of this, you know?_

"I know."

_You could be free of this all._

"You're not my father. My father would never tell me to give up."

_It's not giving up if you've lost. There's no shame in moving to greener pastures. Starrier skies._

"No, thanks."

_So, what's the plan?_

"Same as the old plan."

"Who are you talking to?"

She was speaking so softly, Fox wasn't even sure she was awake or dream-talking. He didn't answer. She lifted her head and in that moment, Fox found it difficult to not pull her to him one more time, "You're awake."

"Who are you talking to?"

He saw that even after all of this, all of learning about how much of a hero he wasn't, how absolutely low of a creature he was, there was still a freedom of judgment in her eyes, "My dad."

She didn't flinch. He'd assumed she would. Instead she just asked, "How?"

"I asked her to make a Jomjbi of him when I found out they exist."

"_Her?" _She picked herself up, the hide blanket lifted, cold air filled the space between their bodies, "Krystal? She made a Jomjbi for you?"

"Yes." He nodded, "I asked for it."

"What did she tell you before she made it?"

"She told me it was a painless way to relive my memories of my father. She said I could even have conversations with him. They would only be mental projections, but they'd be as real as I could get to him."

"Fox..." she was sitting up now, her body exposed to the world around them, "Jomjbi are used as _curses _among Cerinians. They drive people to insanity, or suicide."

"I know."

"And you still asked for it?"

"I didn't know at the time."

Emerald was silent for a long time. She looked away as if deciding how to feel about it, "How did she... and she just told you it would be nice?"

"I..." he tried to remember exactly how it happened. They were in a small village when he told her about his dreams. How every night he dreamed of his father. How every night he pictured his death at the hands of Andross and Pigma Dengar. How sometimes these dreams were actually rather pleasant right up until the end. Until that night, he'd seen his father go through every manner of death. At the hands of so many people. It was hard to remember exactly what the KIA Report said. And it all started when Krystal asked if he had trouble sleeping after the War. _No, _he said, _but now that you mention it..._

"I hate her." Emerald hissed.

"She's your sister." Fox reached a hand out towards her. She turned away, "She's all the family you have."

"You don't understand, Fox."

"How could I not?"

"She was always cruel." Emerald sat forward holding her knees, staring into the flames to recall her memories, "When we were little she would play with all the boys because she liked the way they would fall over for _her_ and not _me_. I had a boyfriend when I was twelve and she kissed him before I did just because she could."

He sat up, "You were girls."

"You don't know her, Fox."

"We..." he did. He knew somehow that he could prove it, too, "We were together for almost a decade."

"She liked you."

"Exactly."

"That doesn't mean you knew her." She turned towards him and Fox saw someone else. Not Krystal's sister, but another entity entirely. One with her own history and story, "You loved a ghost. A ghost that she made especially for you. That's what a Jomjbi is. It's just all of your memories collected into a semi-autonomous projection. That's why it was no problem for her to make another one for you. You were already projecting your image of her."

"That's not true."

"Why aren't you with her right now?"

He stopped. The rain on Krazoa Palace. Her crying through an explanation. She runs off. Two robed guards hold their weapons, blocking his path. He waited on the landing pad for a day. A whole day until they told him to leave. _No, she'll come for me, shortly. _

_No, Captain McCloud. She told us to send you away._

"Why aren't _you_?"

"Why _would_ I be? So she can marry me off for some alliance? So I could be some princeling's mother and a pawn for some game? She was _Chosen by the Krazoa_. I was just her sister. I was just the daughter of the Xikibki. A footnote of genealogy to her epic."

"So you left?"

"I was in the Dark Ice Mines when the Aparoids came. Didn't see much of a reason to leave until Scales took it over. Besides, I had an apprenticeship with the Master of Gears. He let me study all his books from the Cornerian Development Institute. After that, what did I need magic for?"

"She never came looking for you?"

Emerald laughed. She pulled the blanket over to cover herself and said, "No. Of course not." She managed to uncover Fox, exposing a part of him she hadn't gotten to see yet. He quickly reached out a hand to recover some of the blanket and cover himself. She laughed, "Sorry."

"So where'd you go?" She seemed a little more receptive after his own exposure.

"I hung around helping miners and others escape the Mines. We formed a bit of an underground railroad from Sharpclaw territory and I became our more-or-less official mechanic." She looked up and met his eye, "Katt found me when my group needed some hired help. We got to talking about things and well..."

"Well..." She looked actually quite different from her sister in this light. Except for the white sun on her shoulder, she had few markings to distinguish. She had no headband that he'd come to associate as a part of Krystal's whole person. She didn't have any of the markings along her neck to distinguish her education. Her long hair didn't have any beads or bells or locks. Emerald braided it before doing a job, but the Cutubxa had undone it to let it dry, "Well, I'm glad you found me."

"Are you?"

"I am."

"I feel like all I do is bring up terrible memories."

"No," he leaned forward and put ah and on her side, along her ribs, his fingers reaching for her spine, "I have my dad to thank for that."

She felt his hand on her body. Emerald looked down and caught it. She turned and locked eyes with him. For a long moment, they just looked at each other. He felt himself falling towards her, _onto _her. And she felt the same. Had been feeling it for a decade. Longer. There was a galaxy of silence inside of her, all taken in this moment and reduced to the centimeter of space between them.

Emerald turned away. She dropped the yak's blanket from her body, stood up, and walked off. Not into the room with a community of revelry, rather she went into a connected room to be alone with her constellations.

"Emerald." He called.

She stopped. She turned her head, listening. There were clothes laid out for them. It was native dress that would keep them warm until their clothes dried. Soon they'd both wear them and join the locals. She'd talk with old acquaintances and avoid the alcohol. He'd drink ukuu until his Father's Mindbody was silent and he could pretend that the past twenty years went differently. As the celebration draws to a close, Emerald would come to him and whispers in her thickly accented Palace Saurian, "A'm jeh... a'm jeh." He'd lean in to drunkenly kiss her, and she'd soberly respond, "A celo oei." She'd cake him back into the room and whisper again and again, "Edco oei..."

But that was hours away. Fox wouldn't remember it any way. Here. Now. She stood in the doorway, waiting for him to say something else, something more.

He said nothing. She walked away.


	21. Miyu II

**Chapter 21: Miyu II**

An empty bottle of wine sat by the bed. A second rolled around the floor of the bathroom. A third bottle, almost empty, was in her hand pouring another glass. The gold liquid swirled around cheaply in her glass. She was too inebriated to be checking the wine's quality but it felt natural and reminded her of rocks less barren as Katina.

The television was blasting an import drama from Papetoon in some Papisch dialect she was unfamiliar with. A handsome Canid in a flashy military uniform was trying to choose between brides: the local girl he'd been in love with since the sixth grade, or the Venomian commander who held him prisoner, threatening to give him titles, wealth, and advancement if he married her. (Or her sister, who helped him escape.) And then he stopped home to meet the white furred local girl with eyes as blue as oceans.

"Ti xujk tasx lohudtohk!"

Miyu didn't understand so she drunkenly made up her own dialogue, "I loved you!"

"Doad," he said, "Asx xuro Tadwo wojoxod, Jao boddod jasx dasxk lehjkoccod."

"And," she lowered her voice, "I loved you. But things are different now."

"Idt nuj nuho tuj?" she demanded, "Tao Uhmo oadoh udtohod Vhui?"

"What's different? You look the same!" she mocked.

"Tao Jkohdo. Tao Fcudokod. Tuj Lylat-Jojkom leh mah uijworhoakok."

"Not breasts. Balls. Balls of a man named Lylat..." she brought the glass to her lips and found it empty. She stood up and walked over to the bottle on the other side of the bed on the nightable by the bathroom door. She emptied the bottle into the glass, only filling it with a centiliter of liquid. She scoffed.

She looked in the mirror. The hotel supplied bath robe was draped open, with the belt falling loosely through the loops at her waist. She closed it, hiding her breasts and thighs, and tied it roughly closed. The liquor store wasn't far. She stepped toward the door and felt light-headed. Only after grabbing on to the handle did she regain her balance.

Ordering. She could call the liquor store on her link. With new determination, Miyu walked calmly back to the bed and opened her comm link. It wasn't the home screen she was looking at, but a photograph from the war. She was sitting underneath a giant branch of some alien tree on Sauria. Next to her was her ex, white furred and smiling as she was digging into their rations, blissfully unaware of what war actually was. Neither of them would ever _really_ know. They'd graduate boot-stomping duty after a long campaign being shuttled from one base to another under full CDF control. The closest Miyu and her team ever came to real combat was marching through orange-alert jungles from Cape Claw to Thorntail Hollow.

More like camping than fighting.

And in that kind of environment, away from family, and judgment, and the constraints of Cornerian society, they met.

She forgot about the liquor store and dialed. What time was it there? "Hello?" She sounded happy, as if Miyu had just interrupted a loud party.

"Fay..."

"Miyu?" she sighed heavily, "What... where are you calling from?"

"Katina," she answered.

"What are you doing there?"

She didn't respond. Would be in huge trouble if she did, "I have something I want to say to you."

There was some background noise, but for a long while she couldn't hear Fay, "Well... go ahead, then."

"I still... I still hope you want me like you said you would." She felt the wine hanging out around the back of her palate.

"_What?_" She almost hissed it like she couldn't believe what she was hearing, "I don't even..."

Another voice entered the background, "Who is it?" A deep masculine voice.

"Who's that?"

"Just give me a moment." Fay was talking to the other voice, "Miyu... what are you doing?" The voices died down as she walked outside.

"That's classified. What the hell are _you _doing?" She raised her voice, "Who _was _that?"

Fay became defensive, "You know what? That's none of your business."

"It's _always_ been _my _business, Fay."

"Are you drunk?"

"I know what you _really _are. _Who _you really are."

"Enough, Miyu."

"Please. You _can't get _enough. I know you better than anybody. I know what you feel like... what you taste like. I remember what happened at Hound Tail Grove."

There was complete silence on the other end.

"Why do you try to hide who you really are?" Miyu felt righteousness mixing with the alcohol in her blood. It was one of those drunken moments where lucidity has never been quite so acute, and judgment so impaired.

"You're wrong." Fay declared. Miyu was stunned. Hadn't she just said... "I know who I am. I'm not the _liar_. _I'm _not the _dyke_."

_Click_. The line went dead.

Miyu sat on the edge of her bed for a long while, the Papisch drama playing stitched with droning commercials. She stood up and walked over to the mirror. The empty bottles of wine all seemed to stare at her from around the room with their empty hulls and their lidless tops. The robe still covered all of her quite well, the belt tied tightly, keeping her parts hidden.

She loosened it, just enough to let a nipple slip over and around through her gait, and then disappear once she brought the other foot forward.

Miyu turned to the door and walked out of her hotel room. Once she heard hers click shut behind her, she walked out and down the hall. There was a family of Cornerian tourists that were walking the other way, heading with all of their suitcases for the elevator. Miyu passed the husband, catching his eye just as it was grazing her nipple and he quickly averted them forward.

She approached it, Room 1-C, and knocked three times. After a bit of shuffling behind the door, it opened, and Dwic was standing there. His vacant expression turned quickly to shock as he soaked in the image of Miyu leaning against the door frame, a nipple peeking out from behind its hiding spot in her robe. Dwic's eyes were fixed on it as if it had gravity of its own, drawing his gaze down to a trance.

"I'm out of wine," she said.

"I don't have any," Dwic responded.

"What do you have?" She walked into the room and he stepped aside, his confusion subsiding. Dwic's hotel room was a general mess. A tower of books stood in the corner of the room. All of it was heavy literature: biographies of the Tsudish Kings, the vulpid Warring States, conquests of the Lupid hordes, biological analyses of the Aparoids, ethnographic studies of Aquaean islanders, Zonesian treatises on kingship.

"Whiskey," he said.

"I'll have that." His clothes were laid out for the next day, all neatly folded on the dresser. The television wasn't on, but an open beer sat condensating on the table next to the window with a book lying face down on the top, "_Sky Kings, Dead Kings," _she read aloud, "More anti-colonialism stuff?"

"It intrigues me." There was the tinkling of ice in a pair of hotel glasses and then the careful pouring of whiskey, followed by some ginger ale from a new bottle.

"Because you're pro-colonialism."

He didn't answer, just handed her a glass and sat down in front of the book. He picked it up and dog-eared the page he was reading before closing it with the title facing the table.

Miyu lifted her glass too high and toasted: "To the Thousand-Year Dynasty."

Dwic repeated, "To the Thousand-Year Dynasty."

They drank.

Miyu loosened her belt and tossed it on the floor. Dwic tried not to look uncomfortable, "What's wrong?" she asked.

"I haven't seen you so brazen."

"_Brazen_?" She asked. She threw open one half of the robe and in the morning that was essentially the last thing she could recall.

When she came around the light was streaming through the window in a way that made her head hurt just having her eyes open. She forced herself to stand up and walk over to the table where a stale glass with a bit of lukewarm water and a bit of whiskey was sitting. She downed it and bit back the taste.

Miyu realized she was alone in Dwic's room. The door to the bathroom was ajar and she was naked. She was staring at herself in the mirror, her body covered in brown and black stripes. She managed to keep fit and healthy after her laughably easy time as a grunt, but she couldn't help but feel disgusted at herself. Like she had somehow let herself go. Fallen off the wagon without considering the one person she was hurting.

She collected her robe off the floor and ran out of the room. Her own suite wasn't looking much better as far as orderliness was concerned. Empty bottles littered the floor, mingling with discarded clothing. The television had at least detected her absence and shut off after a while, otherwise it would probably still be broadcasting Papisch stories into an empty room. It was late, she went to the closet and picked out a conservative outfit for the day. She gathered her comm link and decided she wouldn't worry about much else. Another day of putting her astrophysics and sociology degrees in the blender and trying to act as a translator between Dr. Powalski and Dr. Doa.

_Damn it... _Dwic.

Miyu took the elevator to the lobby and skipped the hotel's breakfast, walking out into the street and hailing a cab on her own. She prayed the whole while that Dwic wouldn't come running after to "help pay."

When she arrived at the base, a grunt saw her and immediately said, "Dr. Lynx!" He stepped forward, "Dr. Powalski and Dr. Doa have been trying to reach you all morning."

"Oh." "She flipped her link to check it. A dozen missed notifications, "I'm afraid I've been a little scatter-brained. Regarding what?"

He started leading her hurriedly through the facility to the next security checkpoint, "I don't know. But they're going nuts in there." At the next checkpoint, her clearance was above his.

"Thanks," she said, and went down the next hallway without him.

She arrived at the command room that over looked the excavation area and the artifact's surrounding religious architecture. Powalski and Dwic and a dozen of their technician underlings were in the room. Monitors were flashing with energy read-outs and wave-form readings and projections. Inside the facility, suited professionals were carrying a yellow artifact as if it were an unstable explosive.

"What is that?" she asked, leaning too close to the window.

"Dr. Lynx," Leon said, not taking his eyes off the activity below, "Nice of you to join us. What you see is Dr. Doa's hypothesis in action: an attempt at manipulating a Cerinian staff to open the artifact."

Dwic didn't look at her.

She stared down and could finally make out the long golden piece as the staff. She'd never seen one in person, just pictures and photographs in Dwic's books. She knew there were some in the facility but they were useless without their wielders. They were no better than hunks of wood and metal.

"How did you get it open?"

"Non diegetic sound." Leon said, as casually as if he was describing the temperature of coffee, "We set up the speakers that broadcast commands artificially _from inside _the staff."

"And that... worked?" she asked, stupidly.

"Took some tinkering," Leon said, "But yes, it did."

A technician lifted the staff, which was now attached to a wild apparatus that held the non-diegetic speakers the correct distance from the glowing head of the staff. He approached the artifact with the staff's sharp tail end pointed to the key hole in the artifact's door.

Leon held the transmitter down on his link, "Insert the staff."

One technician approached the door and helped guide the staff into the keyhole. The one holding the staff and all its contraptions took a step forward. The other grabbed the staff's tail lightly and corrected its aim. The whole process took two full minutes before the staff locked in place and stopped.

"There's some give," came the technician's voice on the speakers.

"Push." Leon ordered.

A loud click was heard and another analysis from the technician, "There's some in a clockwise direction."

"Turn."

The technician turned the staff. It clicked again and stopped, "Nothing," came his voice. The technician released the staff and let it hang on the door from the keyhole.

"Issue Command 1."

One of their technicians at a monitor leaned into the microphone coming out of the top of her display and said something in Saurian. Miyu assumed the commands were being broadcast into the staff via the speakers. Nothing happened.

"Issue Command 2." Leon said.

"Something's not right," Miyu blurted out.

"Why?" Dwic turned to her, "What's wrong?"

"I don't know, but we're going ahead and playing with something without thinking about the consequences."

Nothing happened. Leon turned to her as well, "What do you mean?" Without waiting for a response he ordered, "Issue Command 3."

"I mean, what if something terrible is on the other side of that doorway? What if we're not supposed to open it?"

"Speculation." Leon dismissed, "We'll never know if we don't venture ahead. Issue Command 4."

"No," she said, "We should keep doing readings. Do the science properly. This way is too dangerous."

Dwic said nothing.

"We forge on ahead, Dr. Lynx. This is the path of discovery. It is only natural that you are frightened. But we forge on ahead." He turned, "Issue Command 5."

Dwic stared at the artifact, and then at the raw fear in her eyes. He turned to her, "No. She's right. Dr. Powalski..." But it was too late. The staff flashed in response to the command and the doorway at the front of the artifact shrank to an eighth of its size, turned sideways, and then disappeared. Inside the artifact was a whole other world. Literally, from where they stood, Miyu, and Leon, and Dwic could see a barren landscape of ice and snow. On distant mountain peaks, columns of black smoke ascended into an alien sky. Below them, bodies.


	22. Caiman II

**Chapter 22: Caiman II**

An alarm propelled him awake with a flashing blue light emitting at the front of his quarters. He hit the "Acknowledge" button and blurted, "Yeah?"

"Admiral, we're approaching the anomaly."

"I'll be down in five." He got up and opened a new bottle of water sitting on the nightstand. The simple act still entranced him every time. All he had to do was twist and pull and there was as much water as he could possibly drink. It was like the old days when the war was still hopeful. Beyond hopeful, when victory was announced on the steps of the Redwood Palace and Venomian soldiers bathed in the Dawn River.

He stood up from bed and stretched. The lights slowly rose to reveal his quarters. Not nearly as lavish as a regular Zeram II state room, but twice as big as the bunks of the crew. Caiman had his state room, originally built into the Cruisers when Venom's aristocracy-based navy still deluded itself with ideas of glorious battle grandeur and loyal soldiers, turned into a recreation room for the men. He didn't need that kind of lavish treatment. Some extra breathing room and a fridge full of water was all he could ever ask for. He went to the sink and let the tap run.

Amazing every time.

He dressed, white uniform with gold insignias, and used the lift to get to the command deck. The doors slid open and he was immediately greeted by the crew, "Admiral on deck!" Svetskyn announced. The crew that wasn't doing something time sensitive shot up and saluted. Caiman returned it with a short _at-ease_ and then sat in his chair.

"How close?" He asked.

Giles was the ship's navigation officer who reported, "ETA ten minutes, Admiral."

"Thanks, Giles."

Svetskyn leaned in, "You can see that Captain Yi has already gathered a preliminary report based on optical observation."

Caiman flipped his console open and opened only the research window which directly linked him to Yi's department. A short paper was drafted listing the anomaly's energy outputs since it came within the _Harvester'_s telescopes last night.

A lot of different light analyses essentially found... nothing.

He closed the report, "Is Captain Yi assembling a crew to go out and scan the thing, now?"

Svetskyn nodded, "Yes, sir."

Caiman left the deck and went to the hangar on the other end of the Cruiser. In the Bay there were a hundred fighters and two science vessels for advanced scouting and close inspection. Captain Yi, a burly aviad missing an eye from the Aparoid Invasion was the _Harvester's _science officer. Caiman personally asked for him after serving with him on the recapture of Fortuna, "Come to see us off, Admiral?"

"I read your report, Captain."

"An interesting read?"

"A vague read."

"Not sure I can be any more specific." Yi turned his beak up towards a Canid on the top of the research vessel, "Initiate final Diag-check!"

"Copy, Captain."

"What are we dealing with?" Caiman asked. Yi place his wing lightly on Caiman's elbow and dragged him a short way away from the craft, "Your report was... fine."

"I tend to refrain from speculation in my official duties, Admiral." They were a good twenty feet from any one who might overhear, "but if you're asking for a hypothesis..."

"I am."

"Off the record."

"So be it."

He looked around with his one good eye, turning his head at extreme angles before his feathers riffled and he sighed heavily, "When I was working on board the _Sector Y_ during the Battle of AH, I was a data composer working on weapons algorithms. They put me on analysis, mostly, and I spent a lot of time looking at Aparoid signals."

Caiman stared at Yi for an extended moment, "Aparoids."

The science officer didn't say anything.

Caiman finally nodded and said, "Well it wasn't unusual that you were analyzing Aparoid signatures in the Aparoid's system..."

"No. A little bit stranger to see them in the Kew System, though."

"Is that what we're looking at?" Caiman kept his voice to a whisper, "Aparoids?"

"Perhaps." Yi said, "I analyzed all sorts of signals and with the magic of technology we can analyze pretty much everything using light. Hell, the Aparoids left us with their carcasses so we learned a lot about how they saw and examined light as well. We do it already with our bio eye." He took a drink of water, "Eyes."

"But the Aparoids are destroyed. Gone and neutralized."

"I'm refraining from speculation, "Yi repeated, "Just telling you the kind of signatures I analyzed coming from the anomaly we're approaching."

"Well... aside from the obvious, what could it be?"

"Other than an Aparoid?"

"Other than an Aparoid."

"Something Aparoid-like?"

"C'mon, Yi."

"I'm not trying to be facetious, Admiral. I'm a scientist. I'm giving you my best guess. Aparoids are unique in their biological structure and genetic make up, but they're not the only things that can emit that kind of noise."

"But..."

"I won't know more until I go out there and look. This is what science is: making our best guesses of the future based on past experiences. Excuse me, Admiral." Yi walked over to the observation vessel and shouted commands to his small crew. Caiman went back to the command deck. He rode the lift, happy to be alone, and let his thoughts run wild. He decided to stop by his quarters and do something first, just in case.

His comm link pinged, "Admiral, we're in position. Captain Yi is ready to launch."

He picked up the link and saw Svetskyn's big hairy head, "Hold everything. I'll be up in five."

First he put the comm link on his pillow. He sat down at his desk and drafted a short letter, ending with the words, "Your son, Adm. Caiman CDF, _HMS Harvester_." He had the data get sent to Communications and back to the Long Range messenger over Kew III. When he was finished he took out his necklace: a white A in a circle and on the other side, an image of Dash Bowman. He knelt in front of his window and looked out into the stars. He kissed the necklace and remembered the prayer he was taught as a child, "Not flesh. Not blood. Devotion and sweat. Patience and bone." It was to a different god when it was first taught, but poking the bear that once killed a billion Lylatians provokes the spiritual in a man.

"Admiral?" Svetskyn pinged again.

Caiman stood and tucked the necklace under his shirt. He picked up the link and responded to Svetskyn, "I'm on my way." He went quickly to the command deck and prayed one more time that this was nothing.

"Admiral on deck!" The executive officer shouted. Caiman dismissed everyone's formality and sat in his chair, "Captain Yi and his crew are ready, sir."

"Launch."

Svetskyn directed his command to External Craft Operations, "Captain Yi is cleared for launch."

On his screen, a series of camera angles popped up. One pointed to Yi, sitting on a high central seat with two junior officers, a pilot and co-pilot in front of him. Two technicians sat behind him. Yi's eye patch made him look like a pirate captain from an old story book. In the hangar bay he was wearing just his jumper. But before the ship launched, he donned his white command jacket to appear more commanding.

Another camera angle was directed at the fact of a canid technician analyzing the anomaly. The other technician was scanning nearby for any irregularities in the surrounding space.

He watched as Yi ordered his pilot, a Sharpclaw like Caiman, "Send us out."

The pilot nodded and the vessel rocked through the _Harvester_'s launch channel and shot out into space. On the main command monitor, just an analyzed window off the _Harvester_'s bow, the dark shape of the asteroid floated ominously dark over the speckled starry backdrop. The banana-yellow light of Kew sparkled off into the center of the system, winking in an out as fluctuations in its output reached the vessel. Barely perceptible if it weren't for the ship's computer to point to it against the black blank space, rose Yi's ship.

The ship flew as close to the asteroid as possible and then made a scanning pass at the anomaly, "Analyze." Yi ordered superfluously.

The officer behind him responded, "Analyzing."

The vessel, which was quickly being subsumed by the asteroid's gravity, about half the size of Papetoon, turned upwards and set about going in a circumpolar orbit around the space rock. A probe was launched at both poles to ease communication between the far side of the asteroid and the _Harvester_.

"Anything on the light side?" Caiman asked.

It took a short minute for Yi's technicians to analyze and respond, "No anomalies."

When the science ship came around again Yi reported, "Nothing to report that wasn't on the previous analysis."

"You mean..." Caiman said, still feeling the heat of those memories.

"Right." Yi said knowingly.

Caiman sighed, "Next step?"

"We fire signals at it to see if it responds." Yi answered.

The Admiral tapped his chair and resisted a display of faith to touch his necklace, "What might we expect?"

"It could be a device left here by another civilization. Maybe something the Kewish forgot about. It might respond, assuming it's with a signal of its own, which could mean the anomaly is intelligent, or at least autonomous."

"And if it doesn't respond?"

"We move in closer with probes to physically examine it."

That option sounded like the preferable one to Caiman, "All right."

"Proceed?"

When Caiman first arrived in Kewish space, the Emperor delivered him a long message: This will be a landmark in the histories of both Kew and Lylat. I leave the choice up to you. Passive observation, aggressive observation, or active expansion, with the goal of bringing the Kewish primitives into the Lylatian fold. We are at the page turning moment of history. The next page is blank. For better or for worse, you will write it.

Something deep in his skull told him this was one of those blank page moments as well, "Proceed."

"Fire radio signals." Yi ordered.

"Firing." The pilot announced. A barrage of primitive signals was unleashed toward the anomaly.

"Activity." The officer behind Yi announced.

"A response?" Yi asked.

"Negative. Internal."

"Could be nothing." Yi directed toward the camera, "But it points to fine instrumentation inside." He turned back to the pilot, "Ready round two?"

"Ready."

"Fire."

Almost immediately, there was a loud _boom_. It was silent, but the wave forms generated on their screens went wild, "What's happening?" Caiman demanded.

Yi was directing commands to stunned analytical officers, "Hold!" he answered. And that's when Caiman saw it: the anomaly, a dark spot on an already darker object opened like a set of curtains, revealing a blinding light that rushed through the new gateway and into Kewish space.

When it was open, a kaleidoscope of a billion lavender and fuchsia lights poured into the _Harvester_'s cameras and stunned the crews with their crystalline beauty and mysterious presence. They lined a tunnel that seemed to disappear over an imaginary horizon. The tunnel extended back into the asteroid. Past the asteroid. Into space. Not to the other side and into empty space, but _aother _space, another world.

Just as quickly as it opened and presented itself, the chasm disappeared. It didn't close, but was obscured by a million shadows that swarmed out of the eternal chasm and into a river of darkness.

Caiman's hand flew to his necklace, "No." He whispered, "My God, no."


	23. Krystal II

**Chapter 23: Krystal II**

She dreamt she was a child. And in the village they were both feared, revered, and hated. She saw her father leading the village in the Apunugu Ceremony, begging the sun to stay in its high place in the sky. But in usual Cerinian fashion, the children sneak away into the forest to their own activities. Krystal didn't have many friends. Village girls didn't play with the daughters of the priestly caste. And other Cerinian girls didn't like the idea that the Xikibki's daughter could look inside their brains whenever she liked. No matter how much she tried to explain that wasn't how it worked, it never helped.

The ceremony lasted all night. It would go until the sun rose in the morning and the year was closer to its end than its beginning. So many of the children – not Krystal, still closer to being a girl – had curled up and slept where they managed to be too tired to walk any longer. It was its own right of passage to stay awake all through Apnugu. Krystal was determined to do so...

Her older cousin had snuck out of the ceremony. Krystal watched her skipping off into the trees. Her clothes melted off her body with each step. She was followed every step of the way by another Cerinian, a man she did not know. He was in a similar state of dress as her cousin. They disappeared into the woods. Krystal had begun to notice this sort of thing more and more. Her parents were often engaged in this communion and even when Mother's belly swelled did Father still go to her with a wide smile and their hushed voices and pleasing sighs.

She always wondered what that was about. What exactly were they doing? Why were they so happy to do it?

Krystal followed her cousin and the man. She brushed aside trees and foliage making certain she wasn't being the loudest creature in the forest. But when she'd managed to move aside enough branches and leaves to see what was going on, she couldn't believe she was seeing two figures fully clothed. The woman was Cerinian, but young. The man, hardly a man at all, was not her color, but red furred like the sky barbarians she'd seen around. Their faces were stuck together like the suction cups of two octopus arms, holding on for dear life to the other, convinced they might die if they let go.

And then they did. In the slight moonlight, Krystal could just make out her face. Not her cousin. Not at all. It was Emerald. Her sister.

Emerald.

And she recognized _him _instantly.

She opened her eyes. It was still dark out, with the pre-dawn stars just beginning to wink out in favor of the blood-orange morning. Hite was not with her. Her bed, with just her and Scoria, seemed vast and empty without either the Jootag or her son. She stayed motionless for a few minutes longer. Krystal could use the rest, but none seemed to come. She watched Scoria's breath rise and fall. The stars behind her becoming more and more faint as Lylat became closer and closer to rising.

The Queen gently took the blanket off her body and got out of bed. She wandered to the nightgown she'd left on the floor and pulled it up, slipping the strap over her shoulder. She walked over to one of the windows where a small table with a pitcher of water. She poured herself a glass and sat down, sipping her drink as she watched the sky turn from blood orange to blood red.

It was so quiet she could hear the waves crash against the cliffs hundreds of meters below. It was so quiet she could hear the door open and Hite's light steps head in her direction.

"You're awake." He whispered.

"Nightmares." She whispered back, "Did something happen while I was sleeping?"

"An alert. I went to go investigate."

"Must have been important?"

"Nothing. A false alarm."

"What was it?"

"Don't trouble yourself, Bxodte." Hite walked up to her and put his sword hand on her shoulder.

"If it woke the Marshal from his sleep it must be worth my attention."

"On the contrary. It was worth _my _attention. That's why I'm the court Marshal."

She sighed, "Fair enough." Krystal thought about what sailors said about red skies in the morning, "I dreamt about my sister."

"When was the last time you saw her?"

"Twelve years?" She couldn't be sure, but the last time she saw Emerald was before the Aparoid War. They didn't fight, or scream, or have any sort of falling out, they just drifted apart. Like they were life boats flung from their parents' sinking ship, and were caught by opposite currents. What was she doing? Where did she go? Would she ever see her again? "I don't know."

Hite kissed her head and went to remove his weapons' belt.

"I'm calling a council meeting for breakfast," she said.

"For breakfast? Surely we can meet afterward..."

"I don't think so," she said, "We need this done, and we need it done quickly."

"What needs to be done?"

"The preparations."

"Hite wasn't completely privy to what she was saying, but understood when her curt responses asked not to be questioned, "I understand. I'll have the cooks begin preparing."

"Please do." He left. She stood and wandered over to the bedside table and put on her rings. In her closet she picked out the appropriate robes for the days' work and when the sun had started to rise, Scoria had woken and began preparing tea for the Bxodte's pre-breakfast meal, she saw that the red sky had given way to dark black clouds that hung above the horizon like evil harbingers of destruction.

She had her tea, but took only occasional bites of the flat bread served with it, "Thank you," she said, "I'm just not feeling quite up to much right now."

Scoria nodded, "You haven't been doing very well since Rha Zamo was sent away."

"Do you blame me?"

"No... but I think we should look toward normalizing things, Bxodte."

Krystal didn't' want things to be normal. Nothing about this was normal. She wanted to tear out her hair and scream, but she only said, "You're right."

A messenger entered, one of Hite's men, who bowed low and said, "Rha Bxodte, breakfast has been served. The Council awaits your leadership."

Krystal stood and allowed the guard to escort her through the Palace sanctuary and into a relatively small room that held only a long table, the five councillors, and a banquet of Cerinian foods from every valley Krystal's Bxuduko managed to touch. Fruits from the Summer Belt, meats fresh and dried, breads risen and flat, all made their appearance. A minced bafomdad mixed with fresh spring onion and a dash of ground garlic sat in front of each plate.

Rha Normu, Krystal, the first Daughter of the Twenty-second Xikibki, sat at the head of the table. To her right was the Marshal who commanded her armies and gave military advice, directly advising on the security of Krazoa Palace and its attendant isles. In this case, the Jootag chieftain Hite.

Directly across from Hite, to Krystal's left was her Chancellor, the man directly in charge of her empire's diplomacy. Her chancellor, for his religious choices, was one of Krystal's great assets and liabilities. Zexd was a Cerinian native, come to Sauria at the same time as Krystal and her parents, but chose the way of the Bonobo rather than that of the Telepaths of his forefathers. So many faulted Krystal for picking Zexd. Yet it was Zexd who was responsible for procuring weapons from Whartonia and alliances with far flung tribes.

Sitting next to Hite was the High Telepath. Krystal had since forgotten their name, and even their gender. The High Telepath spent the vast majority of his or her time sitting among the Hall of Thought in the middle of the One Hundred Eyes and Ears that were Krazoa Palace's telepaths. The High Telepath's job was to mentally sift through their mental objects looking for things within: secrets, whispers, anomalies. It was not a job that left one with very much of an ego at the end of the day. The High Telepath was dressed in a very basic robe of silver and blue cloth. A dozen necklaces hung around their neck. Some were simple beads of wood and nut. Others had the claws of animals and the shells of sea creatures.

Across from the High Telepath sat a Thibfu in a tan-and-red traditional robe that made him look portly. Thibfu robes were tied with large pleats in the back, and gathered above the knee to form a large, fat, pocket in the front. Zamo Sxewouc**, **the richly dressed Thibfu, who owned one of the finer estates on Krazoa Palace's main town, where he could regularly attend festivals, sell his wares, and grow his business empire, was Krystal's steward, in charge of the Bxuduko's finances and budget. The fact that he was Thubfu was only slightly suspect. He was the loudest voice in Krystal's ear that pointed toward marriage with King Zumo.

Finally, at the far end of the table was Krazoa Palace's court chaplain, the man who ruled Cerinia-in-Exile's clergy, gave spiritual advice to its rulers, and controlled the Ecclesiastical Structure of the Bxuduko: Wudtod Khafu.

After the initial gorging, including a ritual licking of the bafomdad bowl, Krystal began to speak, "Thank you all for coming to this early meeting. I hope it was not disruptive for your rest."

"We live to serve you, Rha Bxodte." Zamo Sxewoucsaid, his mouth half-full of grapes, "If you have called us early, it must be important."

"It is." Krystal said. Her plate was full, but she couldn't eat anything, "High Telepath, is there anything for you to report?"

"One of our own was killed on the Ice Mountains. His staff abandoned him and went over to the Colonizers. It speaks to him in his dreams." The High Telepath ate sparingly, only touching more bland foods. Breads and hard cheeses, or less savory meats.

"Who was the soldier the staff chose?" Krystal did not expect to receive an answer that she would recognize.

"Colonel Falco Lombardi."

Wudtod Khafu immediately responded, "A suspicious omen."

"Hite, how did this happen?" Zamo Sxewouc asked, "That Cornerians were able to penetrate so deep and kill one of our best. Aren't you to defend the realm?"

"Are you asking me to explain battlefield strategy to you?" Hite asked. Krystal wondered if the Thibfu knew how hotheaded a Jootag headhunter could be.

"Enough." Krystal said, not giving any man time to ignore her and respond to the others, "Zamo Sxewouc, you are in charge of the finances. Can we stomach a bit of hardship?"

"Enough." Zamo said, stuffing a grape into his mouth, "That would, of course depend on the hardship. Our most recent loan to the Walled City was been more than paid off. I see no reason why King Zumo wouldn't accept another if it was required."

"What do you have in mind, Bxodte?" Zexd asked in the most even of tones, "You seem to be aiming for some goal..."

"I mean to bring war to the Cornerians," she said. She was answered only by silence, "I think we may end up on the defensive, but I also believe the Cornerians will sue for peace before we do."

"You mean to test their defense?"

"I do. In due time, I think we will reach the capacity to turn over full control of Sauria to native hands. It won't take the full destruction of Cape Claw, nor of the Sharpclaw..." they stared at her, their faces unreadable, "but I think it will take a world war."

"A world war?" Wudtod Khafu was shocked beyond belief, "Bxodte, if that were the case, the Cornerians will surely just destroy us from orbit. We possess no starships capable of..."

"I do not anticipate this scale of the conflict soon, Khafu. I foresee my son heading _that _war effort. My goal right now is to make sure our allies are securely in our camp and that the Cornerians and the Sharpclaw have only each other."

"And how far off do you see this conflict?" Zexd asked.

"My son will lead you and your tribes into it." She let that timeframe sink in. Everyone at that table, however, knew there was a non-zero possibility that Rha Zamo Tehzo might never return from Kadw, "In the mean time, we will prevent the Cornerians from dominating the planet and the other tribes from exposing our flanks." She let them ponder that, "Any advice, councillors?"

Eyes flew from their resting state to the other pairs in the room. Zamo Sxewouccaught Wudtod Khafu's. Zexd checked with the blank stare of the High Telepath. Krystal looked around to each of them in the hopes that one might nod, or approve, or give any hint that they were on her side. She saw so little. Her telepathy, for all of that holy skill she was born with, proved to be of so little use...

"We will follow as you command, Bxodte." Hite said. But it wasn't Hite she was worried about. Zamo Sxewouchadn't pressured her at all in this meeting toward King Zumoudw and that was suspicious, at least. She ventured, "Zamo Sxewouc. I trust you will make our disposition toward the Thibfu tribe known?"

The Thibfu looked down at his plate for just a moment. Krystal sensed that he was about to propose that she marry King Zumo to prevent him switching sides, but instead he looked at her and said, smiling, "Of course, Bxodte."

"Chancellor Zexd, your preparations for Whartonia are all set?"

Zexd didn't tarry, "Yes, Bxodte. A transport ship is waiting for me until noon. I'll sail to the White Vale and give your shopping list to Their Eminences."

A sound of disgust came out of Wudtod Khafu, "Bxodte, I must protest..."

"You must not." Krystal said.

"Please, a word." She silently submitted to his protests, "This man is a heretic who follows a colonizer's religion. If what you say will come to pass and your son will rule over a united Sauria, what will they say of his reign if it was won with the weapons of apostates and heretics?"

Zexd stood up with dignity and composure, "I may have chosen an alternative philosophy for my personal way of life, Wudtod Khafu, but I am just as committed to our cause. And I am just as Cerinian as you."

"Are you?"

"You call my religion heresy because it it not your own. But I have never questioned the authority or power of the Telepaths. In fact it has been _you, _Rha Khafu_, _who has done so repeatedly." Khafu looked offended, but Zexd was far from done, "It was _you _who preached against free trade with the Thubfu, and yet here we are with a powerful ally and a thriving economy. It was you who repeatedly ignore battlefield realities and continue to preach against the necessity for an alliance with the Church. It was you, who, despite repeated warnings of _grave danger_ from village children, elected to send out the young Lord to play with the sewer boy!"

Wudtod Khafu stood quickly, his chair's legs scraping loudly against the floor, knife and fork falling from the table loudly a they dropped from his hands. He looked beyond offended. He looked like he was ready to fight.

Krystal stood and landed both hands on the table with an audible, _thud_, "Enough, both of you! How come my only son has been sent to the Cauldron but I must sit this table with children?"

Khafu immediately bowed and apologized, "My sincerest regrets, Bxodte." He sat.

Zexd remained tensed and ready to strike.

"Chancellor Zexd, you will give my regards to the Holy Union? Tell them I desire peace between our people, our lands, and our religions." Zexd turned to her, and in that moment, she was struck by his composure, his grace even amongst tension. He gave a half bow, looking his handsome eyes into hers and not breaking contact.

"Of course, my Queen." He bowed to the others, "My Kinsmen." And then he left.

After the door had closed, Krystal resumed, "There. Now that my trusted advisor is away, I pray you can govern your realm without distraction."

Wudtod Khafu and Zamo Sxewoucand Hite all stood and departed to set Krystal's kingdom in motion. He was left alone in the chamber with the High Telepath.

"You want to speak to me, Bxodte?"

"I do."

The High Telepath stood, "Perhaps it would be best in the Hall of a Thousand Eyes." Krystal followed the Telepath out of the chamber and down into one of the lower floors of the Palace. As she walked, two of the Jootag guards followed her, hands ever ready on their blades. They approached the door of the Hall. The High Telepath opened the door and allowed for the Bxodte to enter. It was extremely rare for anyone but an official Court Telepath to enter the Hall, even the Bxodte herself, so her presence in the large room represented a rare occasion.

The Hall was dark, lit only by periodic candles and the small lanterns held by attendants who waited at the doors in the back of the Hall. Those doors led to a secluded area where the Telepaths could eat and relieve themselves at regular intervals. The attendants, all assigned to one of the hundred rows, each with ten Telepaths, were instructed to rotate them for hour-long breaks throughout the day to allow them to eat and empty. Otherwise they were here in the Hall, meditating deeply nad providing valuable insight to Krystal's intelligence service. During times of war, the Hall of a Thousand Eyes could also psychically attack the enemy, providing elements of confusion in battle, or disrupting potential advantages to the colonizers.

At the very center of the Hall was a Throne where the High Telepath sat cross-legged. The High Telepath sat here and would normally wander through the minds of the thousand other Telepaths for nuggets of information that might otherwise be lost. To be there High Telepath was a powerful, yet undesirable position. They were on the verge of full illumination, but had to remain among the mortals to help their quest, which often seemed more and more meaningless, like the crash of waves along the shore. And with each wave of thought, the High Telepath was made less, like so many grains of sand washing away.

Krystal performed prostrations. It was an intimate affair for a Cerinian temporal leader to bow to her spiritual equivalent. When she approached the High Telepath, she couldn't get two words out, "I'm looking..."

"Your sister, Emerald."

Krystal nodded.

"You've dreamt about her."

"Yes. I feel responsible that I have not kept her safe." She bowed her head, "I haven't even tried."

"We will search for her."

"Thank you," Krystal stood to leave.

"And Fox McCloud?"

She stepped and turned.

"Should we look for him?"

Krystal didn't answer. Didn't know if she knew she could handle the answer, "Just let me know if he's safe."

"And if he isn't?"

Krystal didn't answer. If she had chosen different paths in life, Krystal might be one of these telepaths. It involved years of training and physical neglect in favor of the mind. It wasn't uncommon for telepaths of their caliber to forget who they were, or to need reminding to eat, or to hydrate, or what their name was. Gradually, the senses became blurred and it was difficult to tell what one heard with their ears, or what they detected with the mind. Bxods and Bxodtes would, more often than not, have to remove High Telepaths from their post because their ability to balance the realm between worlds would since have fallen.

She left the chamber, pausing a moment to stare at one of the telepaths. The girl was young, maybe half of Krystal's age. The jewel in the middle of her headdress, meant to be an external neural transmitter, a kind of psycho-amplifier, was glowing and pulsing rapidly. Krystal wondered if she still remembered her name.

Outside, one of the guards turned to her, "Bxodte, there's an issue in the Krazoa Chamber."

"The Shrine?" She asked, "What could be happening in the Shrineroom?"

"The priest has asked for your assistance." The guard had on the usual white tunic, this one with gold and black stripes: the sign of the Kara clan. The other guard with him was also Kara.

"Wudtod Khafu is the ecclesiastical authority. Send him."

The other guard whispered, "He asked for you, Bxodte."

This alarmed her. Something was clearly wrong, "Did he say why?"

"No, Bxodte."

She looked from one guard to the other. They were stone faced. Their minds still and quiet as clear water. She tried to calm her own turbulent mind. But ever since she sent her son into the Cauldron, it was only exponentially more difficult, "Take me to him."

The three Kara guards led her quickly up levels of the Palace to the main shrine hall, which held the grand altar of blue glass, the gate to the Krazoa Spirit Chamber below. The Shrine Room wasn't as big as some of the Krazoan shrines on Sauria. In fact, just based on the sanctuary alone, it was downright provincial. A series of interlocking rafters ascended to the weak sunlight hundreds of feet above their heads. Mosaics lined the walls in labyrinthine patterns that transitioned into the domineering, regal face of the Krazoa God.

It was quite easy to notice the priest's fallen body in the middle of it all.

He seemed to have fallen. At least, that's what it looked like: that he'd just taken a bad stumble. Maybe that was the reason Krystal didn't sense the danger.

She ran to where he was lying and knelt next to him, "Rha Wemsxod?" She tried shaking his shoulder. The guards were behind her, past her peripheral vision, "Wemsxod?"

He moaned. Krystal tipped him over from his shoulder and onto his back. His eyes were closed. His face had an agonized look. As if he was in great pain. Krystal shouted behind her, "Go! Get the healers!"

They didn't move.

She reached to touch the Priest's face. He was not cold to the touch. In fact, he was quite warm. She moved a hand to his eyelids and peeled one back.

It was purple. The whites of his eyes had become something else, something living and moving as if she was staring into a pool of circling fish. And then it turned and looked at her.

The Priest's mouth opened wide and a bright cloud of energy exhaled like mist. It coalesced into a figure, with a wide, stony face and a thousand tendrils, big and small, all coming out of its back like some kind of holy squid. It ignored Krystal and the Kara guards and flew through the air to the altar space. It entered the stone representative of the Krazoa God and settled into place, until the stones themselves pulsed with life.

And then – Krystal's not sure she could believe it without witnessing it herself – the stones opened, and out of its mouth shot a beam of light. They burst forth and extended outward through the sanctuary and out the front gate. The guardian kings that guarded the entrance of the sanctuary seemed to turn and acknowledge the beam in anger and alarm. But they were just stone. And at the end of that beam, Krystal saw the huge hunk of psionic jewel. The same kind that she and other Telepaths wore a piece of around their foreheads.

"I need to speak to Wudtod Khafu." She said, knowing that this changed everything. She wasn't quite sure how, though. When she turned around, both guards were still standing there, staring at her, "What are you doing? I told you to fetch the healers."

"The healers won't come, Bxodte," one of them said. They each had a bizarre look on their faces. One that salivated at the notion of violence.

"Very well. Pick him up. We'll go to them." She's not sure why she thought that would work.

"No, Bxodte." They blocked her path. One had a hand on his sword. The other held one calmly on the shaft of his spear. They stared at her.

"Move out of my way," she commanded.

They were silent.

"I command you."

She felt a presence behind her. She whirled around. Ten Kara headhunters emerged from behind the altar and the statues. They each had a hand resting on the hilt of their swords.

"You will not get away with this treachery." She turned back to the two original guards. Both of whom stepped closer to Krystal. She moved a hand back to her staff...

One of the guards with his sword brandished, tapping the blade against his palm laughed, "Bxodte... we already have."

"No," came a voice, "You haven't."

There was a flash of steel, and his head flew off. His body collapsed in a lifeless heap of flesh and fur. Behind the dead man was Hite.

The other guard took his spear up and defended himself from a fury of onslaughts as Hite cursed them viciously, "Traitor! Oathbreaker!"

Krystal pulled out her staff, it extended with an affirmative _click _and flashed a burst of blue flame. One of the hunters lunged at her. She parried the blow and swung the staff head upwards, catching him under the jaw and shattering two of his teeth. Another came after her and she turned the staff's tail to him, letting cold energy flow out through her body, and come out her weapon as an icy mist. The hunter froze in place.

She lifted the staff to beat the frozen hunter, killing this traitor. But a hand caught it in the air. And the one holding it was surprisingly stronger than her.

Krystal turned. She'd kick him in the face and wrench her staff free...

She couldn't believe it.

"It's you."

She let go of the staff.

Hite stood there with his blade in one hand, blood dripping from the edge. Heads and headless bodies lay scattered around him.

"It's me." Wudtod Khafu said.

"But... why?"

One of the Kara stepped up, "For Weozo."

"Weozo?" she asked.

"There are many reasons, Rha Bxodte," Khafu said, tossing her staff harmlessly to the side, "Weozo is one of them."

"If you want to kill her," Hite growled, "you will have to kill me." The Kara stepped past Krystal and the priest, their weapons pointed at their former commander, "I will not let you. This, I promise: I will not hang your skulls in my hall. I will not burn your bodies. I will crush your heads so there is nothing left. Your bodies will wander, faceless, mindless through the World Between. Your afterlife will be long. And no rebirth will come to your rotten souls."

Hite charged.

A Kara guard stepped forward quicker than Hite. He didn't lift his weapon. Rather, he pivoted on his heel and stepped on a spear one of his kin dropped. The spear levered on the man's body. It's tail dug into the tiles on the floor. Its head...

Krystal screamed.

The point sunk deep into Hite's belly. A foot of shaft came out his back, slick and red. He coughed a bloody cloud. He swung his blade weakly hitting nothing but air. And then he collapsed.

"For Weozo." The Kara said.

"For Weozo." Khafu half-heartedly repeated.

"What is that?" Krystal shouted.

Khafu's answer did not help, "Ask your father."

Her father had been dead for almost twenty years.

Krystal bolted. Khafu grabbed her robe and she struggled out of it. If only she could get out of this room. The shrine was filled with Kara. But outside, there were Khadu, and Thibfu, and Hojo, and others who loved her. She was almost naked, now out of her robe and running for safety.

And a Kara shoulder dug into her chest, and she went flying. Not to death. Not to the ground. But into the stream of energy coming out of the Krazoa God's mouth. It was as if she was caught in a roaring current hastening her to her death. But instead of breaking her neck, the wave of energy brought her to the psionic crystalline structure, trapping her inside.

When she opened her eyes, the crystal was at the top of the Palace, surrounded by armed machinery. Raindrops were falling. The storm had begun.


	24. Peppy III

**Chapter 24: Peppy III**

He thought often of Lucy. He thought even more of Vivian. She never wanted to move to Corneria, and as soon as Peppy started Star Fox with James, she moved back to Aquas with the baby. He felt bad missing so many of Lucy's formative years. He felt worse that he hadn't seen her in so long.

"What are you doing?" Viv asked.

He was staring outside at the beach. It seemed rather obvious, "I'm restless."

"You always have itchy feet."

"I thought Sauria would cure it."

"And this?" She took his hand and put it on her swollen belly, "Does this not make you want to stay home with me?"

"You could come with me." He said, staring up at her, "You both can."

"What? And raise a baby on an armed starship while you and James McCloud chart out the galaxy?"

"We... can build a nursery."

She laughed, "Right."

"Really! We can. The designed for the ship haven't been finalized yet." Waves were crashing against the shore. Has Peppy ever returned to Astowell? His home? Viv's home?

James has a son, right?"

"Yes. See! We _can _build a nursery. We already have two inhabitants."

"What does Mrs. McCloud think of all this?" She asked.

"She's been dead for some time..."

"Oh..." she could have made a quip. She was always sharp, Vivian. She could have said something like, _See, that's the kind of women space explorers like: the kind that can't say no. _But she was too classy. She was far too much of a real woman to be so crude. Instead she said, "Wake up, Hare." He should have known then. He knew that Vixen Reinard was dead, but he should have taken that as a _sign_.

"Wake up, Hare!"

The cell door slammed open.

"I'm up."

He fell asleep in meditation trying to access the Cumu or James. Not since that first night did he see James, and that upset him, but he tried to keep moving forward, _It's all a part of the process. _As the prisoners all lined up for breakfast, Peppy started wondering if it would be possible to contact Lucy.

A spoonful of gray paste with still whole pieces of shell landed on his tray. He took it over to a table with a plastic cup of water and at on the far end of the mess hall. He wasn't actively avoiding anyone. Peppy sat down in a corner and picked at his food.

Be _here _now, he thought.

He felt bad for eating shrimp. His people were vegetarian, but the few hunger strikers here in the _Silence_ died unceremoniously. He needed nutrition.

Be _here _now, he thought.

Footsteps were heading his way. This wasn't unusual. Footsteps were always heading his way in a crowded dangerous place like this.

_Be here now_, he thought.

The footsteps turned and planted themselves in the seat across from him. Peppy was here now. And he knew who was sitting in front of him.

"Panther." The black felinid took his spoon and started judiciously shoveling his gray-pink shrimp mash onto the table, banging the metal below with irregular, solid beats from the spoon, "Nice to meet you, Peppy."

Peppy wasn't sure what to think.

Panther scraped his tray clean, the breakfast shrimps now coating the table's center like a fetid parody of a celebrity carpet walk.

"Is there something you want from me?" Peppy immediately regret how hostile he sounded.

"Your help." Tap. Tap. Tap. The sound was deeply penetrating but not far reaching. Each vibration disrupted the microphones placed at the surface of the table. Each tap moved to intercept the computers' word-recognition software to keep whomever might be listening in the complete silence.

"With what?"

"An escape." Panther said each word slowly as if to make time for a series of arrhythmic taps in between each sound.

Peppy did not respond. Instead he just cast his eyes from one side to the other. It was only him and Panther at the table. Above them, guards were walking along the story above them with rifles slung over their shoulders. Some of them chat casually. All of the prisoners around them did. Peppy saw some of his friends a few tables over chatting. They were almost finished eating.

Peppy knew he shouldn't stay there much longer. He needed to remove himself from this situation. It was all too dangerous, "There is no escape from this place."

"And what if I told you there was?" Tap. Tap. Tap.

"Then you're wrong."

"Tell me why."

"I've been here basically since _The Silence _opened. Lots of people have tried to escape. None succeeded. They just get dragged out to the yard and get shot."

"Well if there's..." Tap. Tap. Tap. "a _riot, _in a place where they can't shoot us like animals, we'll be in pretty good shape."

"A riot?" Peppy gasped. They'd probably just pull out heavy weaponry and turn the ocean floor into a meat grinder, "And then what? _The Silence _is only accessible by submarine."

"I have one." Tap. Tap. Tap.

"What?"

"A submarine." Tap. Tap. Tap.

He couldn't seem to wrap his head around what the guy across from him was saying, "I don't..."

"It's not that hard to understand:" Tap. Tap. Tap. "In three days, a Blue Marine will be docked and ready to take us out of here. We need to be at the docks before the security forces can fight back." Tap. Tap. Tap.

"Wh... what?"

"They'll be taking it from both ends. And if we play out cards right, we can fuck them." Tap. Tap. Tap. "Hard."

It suddenly occurred to Peppy that this was all a set up. The whole scenario only made sense in a vague fictional sort of way. Like Peppy was watching a script play out in slow motion without being told what part he was playing, "Who sent you?"

He slammed the spoon down and leaned in, "Lucy." He picked up the tray and walked off.

The day passed in slow motion. Panther was moved to their team to fill the space left by the dead academic two weeks ago.

Panther wasn't different from any of the other workers on the team. He stole small talk when he could. He worked just as hard (or as little) as the other team members. He was kind to Prince Torriki, the youngest prisoner. And he didn't seem like he was going to talk to Peppy again about it.

The hours passed slowly. Eventually they were ushered into the mess hall for dinner and then their cells for bed. If what Panther said was true, then he had only two more nights in this cell regardless.

Unless this was some kind of ploy. Maybe the warden was trying to find an excuse to weed out Peppy from his list of potential dangers.

He began his exercises. His mind went over scenario after scenario. Best case: Panther was telling the truth and Lucy really was alive and on the other end of that potential submarine docked in two more days.

Worst case he was being led into a trap.

At his hundredth pull up using the rafters in his cell, he stopped and landed silently on the ground. What were all these exercises for if not to fight back? What was all this mental fortitude for, except to resist their attempts at breaking him?

_The Silence _broke men repeatedly. Over and over again, loyalists and political types came here thinking it was a lousy vacation and died as they begged Andross for forgiveness.

He would not be one of them.

He could hardly sleep. Not out of fear. Peppy did not fear death. According to the normal ideals of his time, he was consigned to death a long time ago. But he would not simply cease to live.

The next day he found a seat in the mess hall adjacent to Panther. He didn't say anything, he only nodded.


	25. Falco VI

**Chapter 25: Falco VI**

"I wasn't sure you were going to make it."

He got off the bike and followed Ave through the foliage, "Yeah, I was having some trouble locating it."

She chuckled, "Good." She stood aside for Falco to pass by and he managed to get a good look at her: red feathers tipped with vibrant green. She had gold makeup around her eyes making the flashes of her lavender irises more prominent. She wore a loose fitting skirt that covered her only just, reaching over one shoulder and stretching just under her knees. It was oddly puritan, but he somehow knew it was only temporary. The Sky Kings never worried about decency in such a way.

_Decent _was exactly what Falco felt like next to her. He had a modest blue feathering from head to knee. Only slight trimmings of red covered the back of his head as a pigmented afterthought. He drove here without a shirt, but his reasoning was now lost. All he wore was a pair of ripped shorts that were once purchased clean and new in a Cornerian market.

After his bike was pulled out of the open street and into the cover of jungle, Ave covered their path with foliage, using naturally occurring vines as a doorway she closed as easily as any artificial gate. Now that Falco was looking at it from behind, it looked stupid and obvious.

When she turned and saw the look on his face, she said, "Don't worry. A hundred colonizer tourists drive by every day and never notice. Everything looks obvious from the inside."

A couple steps later and they were suddenly on the border of sand and mud dunes blocking the island road from the sea, and the beach Falco had seen a thousand times in his dreams.

There were a hundred people here. Every single one of them was an aviad, like him. He saw almost everyone had stunted, short wings, or broad and strong ones, with manually clipped feathers.

Ave removed her sari. Beneath it she wore only a bikini bottom, red and green like the rest of her body. Falco only noticed because he was looking.

Looking at the others on the beach, they were similarly dressed in sky and little else. Their feathers were intensely more vibrant than his: lavender and olive green, blood red and cerulean blue, snow white and midnight, and winter silver, desert gold, and every combination imaginable that Falco's father probably painted in his dreams. By comparison, Ave was moderately decorated. Other women and girls groomed themselves until they had five, six, or seven colors flashing to the world.

The men were even more vibrant.

Years of modesty and _looking cool _at Cornerian public education, where _sticking it _to the authorities and the principal often involved the semi-political, semi-self-loathing act of plucking out colorful feathers and angrily throwing them, came crashing down around him.

"I don't belong here." Falco whispered to himself.

"Come on." Ave said, not hearing him, "You can park your bike over there and we can hit the waves."

Her hand pulled him over to a hut made of bamboo and straw. Falco parked the bike and sniffed the air. Meat.

"Dinner later." Ave said. They peeked around to the front where they saw an old bird tending to a spit roasted boar. The cook was dressing it in a thick brown sauce while a younger aviad rotated the meat over the fire.

"Did you bring something to swim in?" Ave asked.

Falco looked around and considered her request, "You mean, like clothes? Swimming shorts?"

"Yeah."

He hadn't considered they might be necessary. In fact, he was still moderately confused. All around him aviad men and women were stark naked. A ring of onlookers watched as a man in gold and green wrestled with a female partner in red and yellow. Both the audience and the athletes were naked. Falco's innate Cornerian sensibilities were shaken. He reminded himself that there was nothing _inherently _sexual about a naked body. That puritan Cornerians made it their duty to make others feel shame and disgust. What he was seeing was merely a sport, making a logical choice of uniform because of the nature of the activity...

And then the male pinned the female to the ground, her beak in the sane, a wing on the back of her neck, the other positioning his hips in line with hers...

"Falco?"

"Uh... no. I didn't think I would need them." He looked out into the sea and saw others sitting on the wet sand without any clothes on, "Do we really need them for swimming? No one else is wearing them."

"Well, no," Ave said, "not for swimming." She looked around the beach and said, "Hold on. I'll be right back." She disappeared.

Falco was left standing on the beach, alone amidst the flurry of activity. He turned his head toward the wrestlers. There was still a crowd – now entirely obscuring his view – cheering on the athletes amidst their new activity.

The men here were so colorful and flamboyant... Falco could feel his anxiety rise. What must Ave think of him? He reached into one of the side bags on his bike and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

Two breaths in, a voice interrupted his thinking, "Hey. You're new here."

He turned. A short girl, all white feathers with flashes of yellow and pink at her extremities, wearing nothing, was behind him, "Hi," he said, "Yeah, Ave brought me along."

"Oh, great." She said, "Can I give you some advice?"

"Sure."

"We have lots of stuff here to try. If you want I can show you."

"Oh, thanks. I'm Falco, by the way."

"Feara." she said, "But you might want to put that out."

He looked at the cigarette in his hand, "Oh." He stamped it out against one of the metal parts on the bike and said, "Sorry."

"It's all right. You're new."

Ave returned. She had a long pointed board of wood under each arm and a garment in one of her hands, "Oh, hi, Feara."

"Hey, Ave." Feara said, "Cute catch you got."

"Thanks." Ave planted the boards on the sand.

"I just wanted to let him know that we've got lots of stuff to smoke here. But tobacco is a _Cornerian _plant."

She handed him the shorts. He held them up: a length of synthetic fabric that covered his legs down to his knees, "You'll want it. The board is not kind to your lower parts. Especially for first timers."

He was about to ask the obviously stupid _Where do I change? _realizing finally that he was clearly expected to do it right here.

"He's only been here three months. Never to the beach."

Falco dropped his pants.

"Never?" Feara asked. Falco could feel her eyes wandering to his body.

"Don't worry, we'll make a Zonesian of him yet."

He pulled on the new garment and looked up at the girls. Feara and Ave both turned to him and smiled. Feara winked at him, "Well, he's quite brave for a new guy." She turned and walked off.

"Brave?" Falco asked, "What did she...?"

"Don't worry about that, Falco." She picked up one of the boards and said, "C'mon. Let's hit the waves." Ahead of them was open water, with the Lylat sun blinding their swim out into the waves. A string of other surfers were waiting out in the sea for their turn on the swells.

They approached the ocean, "The Rift Junction Isles are actually called Xunu'abu in our ancestors' language. It had two functions: first, it was the home of the Imperial Gardens. The highest and mightiest Sky Kings had their coronations here. And they took great pleasure at _clipping _the wings of their rivals."

"Clipping?"

"It was considered a fate worse than death. Many of those clipped were nephews or brothers of the new Kings. Some were decrowned Kings themselves. The goal was to limit their travel, and hope the problem might take care of itself." Falco felt the waves lap at his feet and wondered what it would feel like for the waves to take him under, "But they didn't. Exiled from the high pressure currents that circle our world, the Clipped were _stuck _on Xunu'abu. As their numbers grew, they found comfort in their collective shame and started small communities, like this one. Here, there were no Kings or Empires. There wasn't shame or punishment. Here, they lived in freedom. And even though they could never fly again, they found ways to get close." She indicated the surfboard.

"I don't know how." He said.

"Just follow my lead." Ave carried the board under her arm and started running out into the ocean. Falco waited for her to plant the board onto the surface and her to climb on top before he tried it as well.

Mounting the board was a task in and of itself. Finding the right way and angle to lie on top of the board and safely shift with any passing swell of water was his first lesson in surfing. It took him a good ten minutes to finally catch up to Ave. She was sitting at the end of a line of surfers, all black silhouettes against the glistening sea, and patiently watching the others swim up to the waves and ride them back towards shore.

_Am I flying yet_? He just tried to sit up on the board. This too was a skill he would need to practice: sitting.

"You made it." She said.

He looked up and was transported to another realm, a heavenly realm where there was no pain or suffering. Just him and Ave. She was his crimson Sky Queen, teaching him how to reclaim his home, his past, his future. Her eyes were like endless stars, the sun-glinting sea, like heaven's halo on her head.

"Watch closely."

Ave laid chest-down on the board and paddled out to the oncoming wave. As it approached, she turned back around and started paddling away from the wave, as if she was now going downhill. As the swell picked up, it began to resemble more of a mountain than a hill. A crest of white water began to crown the peak before it tipped over, forming a curl. As the wave picked her up, Ave reached her hands down and pushed her body up, her feet sliding quickly into place in between her hands. She stood up as the wave carried her on a diagonal path towards shore. Ave stood firmly, not bent and crouched like some of the other riders Falco had seen that day, but tall and erect as if she were standing on solid ground.

She lifted up her arms and spread her wings, stunted and small like Falco's, but flush in catching the sea wind and spread wide into a fury of colors. With the sunset streaming through the waves, and lighting Ave from back to front, she glowed like an angel of the ocean.

The wave was soon half its size and then half that. Ave put her wings down and climbed back down to paddle her board near to Falco's, "Are you ready?"

He was paralyzed, "For what?"

"To catch the next wave."

"What? Are you serious?"

"Of course." Ave smiled, "Just remember to push yourself up. And if you fall, you fall. There will be more waves."

He leaned over and onto the board. He started to paddle and missed the oncoming wave. He realized it was happening only after he'd already passed over the crest. Another one came for him and he got ready to hit that sweet spot, "Come on..." he whispered to himself, all too afraid of tripping up and falling under the water.

The board caught the swell. He'd hit it. Falco reached down and held the center of the board, pushing his chest upwards and then sliding his feet upward slowly. But he couldn't manage to slide them all of the way. He felt like he was losing his balance. One wrong step and he would slip and plunge into the ocean, "Don't..." he whispered to himself.

Behind him, the wave started to close over him. The board carried him along the water, turning him parallel to the shore, but he stayed on all fours, scared to push up like he'd seen all the other surfers do. Like he'd heard Ave tell him to do.

He overcame that fear. For just a moment, he overcame it, and pushed himself to his feet, sliding his soles forward and reaching his arms out to find balance.

That one motion made all of the difference. His arms extended, stunted, and deformed from a life on a high-gravity, low-pressure world like Corneria, felt the rush of wind between his feathers for the first time.

The wave crashed and Falco's board floated into the shallows, quickly consumed by chop. He wasn't sure how to get down, hadn't watched enough of the surfers to know. He tried lowering himself gently in the reverse motion of standing up on the board, but only ended up shifting his weight the wrong way and slipped, falling under the water in a less-than-graceful motion.

He regained hi composure and drew himself up to the board floating on the surface. Ave was there, sitting calmly to hers, "Nice job."

That evening there was feasting, and music, and dancing. Falco was welcomed by the beach elders, some of whom showed Falco their clipped wings. Most were losers in the Independence War (Falco didn't volunteer the fact that his father fought for the Loyalist Brigade). Still most of the beach's residents were off-worlders, like him, who couldn't figure out who or what they were.

There was a gold and black-feathered Cornerian named Eagon. He had memorized not only the classic exile literature that Falco grew up with, but had learned Zonesian from scratch and could recite the epic poetry of their ancestors.

Deagyra was purple and green feathered with long eyelashes that fluttered over the fire as she sung folk songs that Ave translated for them as she bellowed:

_Stars of the evening sun,_

_You steal my lover tonight. _

_Watch o'er his flight,_

_I love him more'n battles won._

They feasted on the island's natural abundance. Falco was so used to the endless food deserts of Corneria's restricted districts that the idea of a tropical island like Xunu'abu holding so many herbs, boars, fruits, and insects just ripe for a strong-eye forager was mind blowing.

He ate until he couldn't eat any more. And that was before Ave handed him a coconut half and poured fermented honey into it. The night became a daze of song and embers and stars.

Ave tugged on his wing in the middle of a drum circle. He turned and she beckoned him to follow her into the jungle. He ran after her coquettish step. The drums grew fainter and the smoky flavor gave way to the scent of wild flowers and sea salt. He caught up with her. Or she let him catch her. They tumbled to the sand and kissed.

He pulled himself back and looked at her, now in the way that he tried so hard not to think about on the surf board, or during the traditional songs. She reached down and grasped him firmly, cooing into his ear.

Falco closed his eyes. She started to massage his body.

"Corneria doesn't understand. It will never understand."

He wanted her. He needed her.

He opened his eyes.

She stared back at him through empty glowing circles. An eerie blue shined back at him illuminating him for what he was.

_You'll never understand._

He opened his eyes.

Jan was sitting across from him, tapping his knees. A half dozen others sat around them on the transport waiting for the all-clear.

Above their heads was a military voice, "We're nearly docked wit the _H.E.S. Dominance_. Prepare your boarding documents, and we'll be on board in no time."

Jan caught Falco's eye, "You all right, Colonel?"

Falco nodded half-heartedly. He wanted to forget this was happening. He wanted it to be over and got back to Sauria and drink for a month. He wanted a bottle of alcohol and a single bullet.

There was a loud _clang _as the transport locked into place with the larger starship. A hiss of atmospheric stabilization followed and the pilot came back over the link to tell them, "We've docked with the _Dominance_, feel free to remove your safety harness."

Before he'd even started that sentence the soldiers were removing them with _clicks _and _snaps _all around the cabin. Falco was the last to do so. Jan waited and followed him out of the transport and into the hangar bay. There was a small counter with a black uniformed officer scanning clearance cards. Falco handed the man his card. It scanned, putting his face on the computer screen with a short list of details. At the top of the list were his current orders and his and Jan's clearance to take two Skyclaws on a mission into the Saurian atmosphere.

"Welcome aboard the _Dominance_, Colonel Lombardi. Your starcrafts have been fully prepared and are ready for you and your copilot." The ape pointed down the row of docked space craft towards the launching platform, "Good luck on your mission, sir."

"Thanks," Falco said quietly, with Jan in tow.

They walked past a dozen fighters primed and ready for missions across Sauria. At Bays 23 and 24 there were two crafts with forward-swept wings, and sleeker, redesigned G-Diffusers utilizing new gravity fabrics that Space Dynamics was working on since before the Lylat Wars. There was a big A with a circle around it. Falco briefly wondered who continued that work after Beltino was...

He pushed that thought away.

Falco climbed into the cockpit on the vehicle in Bay 23.

Jan didn't go to the other one and waited. Falco looked down from his cockpit and saw the confused look on the Sharpclaw's face. He stood there in silence for a period before Falco just looked away and initiated the Skyclaw's diagnostics check.

"What?" he asked.

Jan reached ah and back and scratched his head awkwardly, "I was just thinking, Colonel."

"About what?"

"About when you met Fox McCloud in the forest."

He looked over at Jan.

"Just... what were you thinking?"

Falco glared at him one more time and said, "You're out of line, Lieutenant."

"Sorry, sir." Jan hurried to Bay 24 and got into his ship, beginning his own diagnostics check.

Falco's own check was completed and the canopy closed over his head. Atmospheric pressure normalized and flight command beeped over his comm link, "Skyclaw 23, all systems are green-lighted, and you are cleared for launch."

"Copy that. Thanks, command." Falco flipped up the box that held the launch panel. The crane holding the Skyclaw in place lifted his ship from Bay 23 and onto the launch track. He grabbed the handle, and punched it forward. The Skyclaw shot forward, his engines picking up pace, and blasted out of the _Dominance_'s hangar bay and into the lush starscape of the space above Sauria.

Countless pinpricks of light, as numerous as grains of sand, twinkled at him from all sides. He was reminded of holding his arms out on the surfboard, which made him flex his hands over the controls. Below was the lovely blue swirl of Sauria. The _Dominance _was situated over Sauria's eastern hemisphere, where smaller islands and micro continents swam amidst the endless blue ocean. Other ships in the field only added to the waves of emptiness that seemed to flow out towards him.

Falco always wondered if this was something the Sky Kings knew or felt. Did they feel the emptiness under their feet and fear? Or did they feel the ground upon landing and feel strangled and suffocated?

He'd grown up on the land of Corneria. A fear of heights was not unheard of among his peers. Was practically common.

But sitting in this tiny frame of metal and glass, separated from oblivion by a few centimeters of heated, synthesized material, knowing that vacuum and death awaited him inches below his feet, yet with wings nonetheless, how was he supposed to feel?

"Ready, Colonel?" Jan asked.

"Ready." Falco uploaded the coordinates to their data stream. They weren't going far. McCloud's likely location for storing his Arwings couldn't be too far from where he encountered them in the Ice Mountains, "Keep your scanners open and looking out for any ship. He's likely got deflector beacons that won't list his ship as an Arwing."

"Copy."

"Also, stay high-alt so when he tried to break for it, you can shoot him back down towards me."

"Copy."

"And, Jan."

"Sir?"

"I shoot him down. You got that?"

There was no pause on Jan's side, "Copy. But, Colonel?"

"What?"

"How sure are you that he's leaving today? Wouldn't he try to hide out for a while?"

"No. He needs to get out ASAP. He won't risk a planet-wide manhunt for him. Especially with a bounty on his head and the situation not as fluid as it was ten years ago. Plus, he's not done. I think he's going to go looking for... someone else."

"All right.. but we could be orbiting the planet for... a long time. What if we find nothing?"

"Just trust me on this. He'll show up. I flew with him every day for three years. He'll show."


	26. Appendix

**Appendix**

**Bonobism**: A new religious movement starting from Cornerian-based Apes who spread across the Lylat System in the past century before the Lylat War. Bonobism teaches "spiritual liberation through sexual understanding." Their converts wear white clothing, abhor marriage as a "corruption of the sacred body" and practice various forms of meditation as methods to increase spiritual power and understanding. Originally a de-centralized cult, Bonobists made the majority of their followers among Saurian converts, and soon centralized into a state on Sauria with a Pope and Popess to serve as their religious heads.

**Bxuduko: **"bhu-due-ko," lit. "Khanate" a Mongol word synonymous with "Empire"

**Bxodte: **"bho-d-te," lit. "Khendu" a Tibetan word literally meaning "Sky-Dancer" referring to the Sanskrit "Dakinis." It refers to female spirits, in this case female reincarnates commanding respect similar to (or greater than) a Queen.

**Bxumfu**: "B'hum-foo," lit. "Khampa." Direct reference to the Kham region of Tibet.

**Chapter 4: Rayn I**: Cut from the story. Originally, Rayn was to be Fox and Fara's son stolen from birth leading to lifetimes of regret and pain for both of them, eventually leading to their short marriage's early demise. Rayn was going to be at the center of a conspiracy led by General Pepper to have himself murdered, and short circuit the 100%-loyalty mechanic built into the super-soldiers' brains. Anyway, now that I'm back in the game, I decided to cut this and put it somewhere else for the future, and switch Miyu to a different job because she would later prove invaluable to the story. But if you're really interested in reading it:

Moving target practice never got boring. The Colonel always changed the game, either by speeding up the targets or giving them new weapons to fire back with. Rayntook down three before they switched from assault rifles to rocket launchers. He jumped fifty feet before the explosion under his feet propelled him forward another hundred. He landed on his side at the base of the tower wall. Thankfully the Colonel didn't develop automatic rockets so the target took a moment to reload.

"Rayn, you A.C.?" Miyu called. A pair of cracks from her sniper rifle rang out. Rayn's armor did a lightning fast diagnostics check before it gave him the All-Clear and he stood up, "Yeah," he gathered his weapon and ran into the tower. Three broken targets. Their heads were snapped off and lying on the ground. Miyu was not only good with the rifle, but she was quick with the knife too.

"I'm at the base of the tower. Where should I go?" Rayn held his assault rifle to the doorway waiting for targets to come through and find them.

"Fay and Buck are getting stomped out in the north quadrant. It's three against two over there."

"Should I go and even things out?"

"I would grab that RL and head for the flag. Their sniper is feeling pretty bored just watching over it."

"Will do." Rayn rolled out of the doorway and held up his weapon. Nothing. He sprinted for the crest of the hill where the animatronic bodies of three targets were lying torn through with bullet wounds. The one on the ground missing a head was still clutching a red rocket launcher. He pried it from the robot hands and started jogging to the west quad. Through trees, rocks, and physical barriers he encountered only enough resistance to prove troublesome. No doubt his position was compromised and the sniper knew he was coming. The tower was the obvious nest but it was common for the Garudas to ignore the more blatant location in favor of less defensible but more hidden locations. There was nothing as high as the Tower and nothing quite so obvious. Jane had to be in the forest up one of the trees.

As if to answer his suspicious, a sniper's _crack _rang out nicking his shoulder plate. He dropped to the ground and stayed below the sightline… or so he hoped.

As he lifted his head from behind the next boulder the sound of low-altitude gravity-diffusers whirred in from overhead. A half dozen dropships landed and poured out twenty-five soldiers dressed in black and green camo heavily armed. Jane took out two before a barrage of rockets took out the sniper. A moment later they took out Rayn.

"Contingency plans," Colonel Pepper was saying twenty minutes later to the two teams. He had on his usual rough scowl and a pair of dark sunglasses. His red uniform was polished and pressed to perfection with a mix of campaign decorations and achievement medals, "Did you know that reinforcements would arrive?"

"No, sir." All eight of them answered.

"Did you plan for that contingency?"

"Not appropriately, sir." It was only Rayn that time.

"So you did plan?"

"We planned simply to make a full tactical retreat. The reinforcements arrived too soon for us to make much effort."

"Oh, well why didn't you ask them to wait for your team to recollect, Captain Rayn?"

He stayed silent. When the Colonel was asking rhetorical questions you stayed silent and stared ahead. Colonel Pepper was so close to Rayn's face that the soldier could feel the breath on his nose, "No, sir. But in this sort of situation there was nothing to do. With victory impossible and defeat highly probable, retreat is the only option before surrender is irrelevant."

Pepper smiled darkly, "Damn right, son." He stepped and barked, "Hit the showers."

The showers in the facility were separated between the fifty or so Shock Action Special Forces and the couple of hundred of grunts: wash-outs from previous fueled programs or guys unsuited to clear out pirates from Meteo or the colonization efforts on Sauria. Katina was considered _safe _and the most densely populated planet after Corneria. Still, it held only 5% of the system's sentient population.

Grey Team showered together. Rayn, Fay, Miyu, and Buck teased and pushed each other talking about the battle as they washed. Buck recounted their heroic stance against not an equal force, but an enemy of _three_. A whole one-point-five of their attacking force.

Rayn just had to smile and nod while he shampooed his body. Buck was the kind of hero the people on Corneria would love. He was loud and told a good story. Maybe someday they would get an opportunity to be paraded through the streets as heroes, waving and kissing babies and offering the people a distraction from bitter victory.

He'd only been a part of a real war once: years ago when the Aparoids invaded and they were only twelve. They'd taken part of guerilla war on the ground in the Katina savannah figuring out what worked and what didn't. After General Dengar led them to bloody victory outside the capital space zone, Rayn, Fay, Miyu, Buck and the 46 other SASF's were given three days leave to be paraded through the streets of Katina with the other heroes. They stole brief glimpses of commandos and soldiers they'd heard about all their lives but never got a chance to see: General Dengar, the future General Oikonny, Colonel Lombardi, plenty others, but Rayn wondered where Fox McCloud was.

Every soldier enrolled in the Command Shock Action Center knew and studied Fox McCloud. His air tactical maneuvers as well as his ground combat were spectacular. In fact, the only thing Fox and his party had going against them was numbers. If they had only a few more Fox McClouds, or maybe the enemy a little less, the war might've been won.

So Colonel Pepper said. He made it clear that he was on the losing side of whatever war it was that he knew Fox McCloud. Was Fox on the losing side too? If he was dead, they never told him. Rayn knew by now there was no sense in asking for biographical information they didn't readily offer.

"We'll meet you inside." Buck and Fay grabbed towels and shut the water off. As they left, Fay gave Miyu a wink before closing the door.

**Sex Scene Cut**

"Was it really that good?" she shut the water off.

"It always is." Rayn straightened and kissed Miyu's cheek, "Believe me." The reality was simply that neither Miyu nor Rayn had ever been with another. They were each other's first, and as far as they were concerned, each other's last. While the other SASF's went around swapping partners in complicated relationships, Rayn never tired of squeezing Miyu's hand and pulling her close to say, "I'm your partner."

"Well, come on, partner. They must be waiting for us." She grabbed a towel and began drying off, handing one to Rayn after. They both walked out, grabbing dry suits and heading into Dr. Toki's interview room. Dr. Toki, like Miyu, was lynxic with dark brown fur and black stripes. Rayn always thought of Miyu whenever he saw her, plus fifteen years, but never saw the Doc with anyone. As far as the Shockers were concerned, she lived in the dark interrogation room with a table bolted to the floor.

Miyu slipped into her dry suit and walked into Dr. Toki's room. Rayn waited about fifteen minutes for the light on the door to switch from red to green. It meant Miyu's interview was over and Rayn should go inside and talk to the good doctor.

She had a plastic cup of tea waiting for him when he opened the door. He sat down and began to sip the herbal concoction while he glanced up and down Dr. Toki. She _did _look like Miyu, but it was more than just a racial resemblance. They shared the same kind eyes, the same nose twitch, and the same kink on their ear shape.

"How are you doing, Rayn?"

"Really well, Doc. What's in the tea this time?"

"Sage and nettle."

"It's good."

"You like it?"

"Oh yeah. Much better than that black crap you were serving us for years."

"Rayn, I haven't had black tea since before the Aparoid War." Rayn laughed, "You know I've been experimenting with different plants ever since then."

"How many fields do you practice in?"

"All of them. That's why I'm angry so often. I'm usually being asked to give speeches or guest lectures."

Rayn had wondered that. The Doc was available to any Shocker that just wanted to speak to her. A lot of themtook the opportunity especially during periods of burn out. But they often met with General Powalski who would record their monologues and send them to Dr. Toki over the net. Rayn always knew she was smart but never truly understood _how _smart she was.

Indeed, it was probably impossible for anyone to truly understand that mystery.

"So tell me about thisloss." She wasn't military, but Rayn and his fellow Shockers obeyed every order like she was the goddamn Empress.

"Wasn't much to it, really. Colonel overwhelmed us all to teach us that sometimes victory is simply impossible."

"Why couldn't you retreat?"

"That wasn't possible either. We had nowhere to retreat to and no time to do it. Eight against a hundred isn't exactly brilliant odds to begin with. They had greater fire power and a divided – both geographically and objectively – host. So… yeah."

"Has Colonel Pepper done this to you before?"

"No. That's why it was unexpected."

"What about historical precedents? You've been given extensive lessons in history so there must have been something…"

Rayn thought back on his history lessons, "No. All of the overwhelming victories I can think of were slam-dunks. Nothing in class covered defenses in this manner. I mean, even Colonel Pepper said I was right that sometimes defeat is inevitable and retreat impossible."

"Why do you think the Colonel said that?" Before Rayn could answer, an alert popped up on her glass tablet. She glanced over at it and hit the DISMISS button. He was quick enough to notice that the notification came from General Powalski before the message disappeared into the screen. She looked up at Rayn after the interruption and said, "Sorry about that."

Rayn was almost done with his tea, "The Colonel has never been shy that he was on the losing side of the War. The one before the Aparoids."

"He hasn't? Tell me about that."

"I can only tell you what I know from the vids and books they give us. But it was Andross versus the Cornerian Republic. The Republic's scientific policies kept it from advancing and the military policies kept it from defending itself. Mercenaries and pirates plagued all inter-stellar commerce and destroyed the integrity of the Republic. Merchant guilds and feudal familiar began to bend Parliament to its will before Andross unleashed an overwhelming attack that forced Parliament to recognize Oikonny hegemony."

"And Colonel Pepper was on the losing side of that war?"

"Sounds like it. Based on the history files, he didn't have much of an army to fight with so at least the Emperor seems to have that relatively under control."

"Do you think it's possible the Colonel was demoted for his efforts against Andross?"

"Of course. It's pretty obvious, actually."

"Really? Obvious?"

"Yeah. But to Andross' credit, he saw a man that was a force to be reckoned with. Instead of letting Pepper rot in some prison he has him here training soldiers."

Dr. Toki pulled out her notebook and wrote something down long hand, "Why do you do that?" Rayn asked.

"Do what?"

"Write with a pen and paper? Isn't this all recorded electronically?"

"True… it is. But sometimes you have to do some things by hand." The pen and notebook disappeared into her jacket pocket, "Some things you say are important and I want to remember them better for the future. Hence, the notebook."

"What did I say?"

"Some things about the Colonel." Before Rayn could ask what, she stood and picked up the tablet, "I think that's enough for today. Go have lunch and your evening class."

Rayn stood and obeyed, "Thanks for the tea, Doc."

**Cuej**: "Shoo-ey," lit "Laos."

**Cutubxa**: "Chu-toob-s'ha," lit "Ladakhi." Direct reference to Ladakh, or "Little Tibet" in the current state of Jammu and Kashmir in northern India.

**Cumu**: "c'hu-mu," lit. "Lama," a spiritual teacher and trainer.

**Fooding and lodging**: Not sure if it's a tongue-in-cheek joke that got way out of hand, but this was how many hotels and guest houses were advertised in Bhutan: fooding and lodging. It was certainly a charm I miss.

**Gutukla**: "Goo-took-la" Direct reference to "gutuk" sometimes called "gutukhla," a holiday celebrated two days before the Tibetan New Year of "Losar."

**Hadfesxo: **"had-fesh-ho," lit. "Rinpoche" a Tibetan word meaning "Precious One." A name given to male Reincarnates. Females are given "Khendu" in Tibet, "Boxdte" in Cerinia and Sauria.

**_History of the Lylat System_**: an award winning four-part series written by Cerinian Exile and professor of history at Corneria City University, Dr. Dwic Jomju Doa. Here are some quotes:

"_The true elegance of the triple-system that developed was proved quite simply by the simple lack of violence." – Vol. I Corneria_

"_House Phoenix claimed descent from the Prophets of Medieval Tsud. They also developed the harshest political system that flew directly in the face of the eight Prophets' commandment: be true and kind to the people, for they are the soil in which good governance is grown. (House Phoenix's favored method of control being the prison camp.)" – Vol. I Corneria_

"_Andross was well known for his engineering expertise as well as his horrific military experiments. But he was far from the only engineer at the time. Somewhat ironically, General Pepper was fond of these experiments and was Andross' original funder. After Andross' exile, other engineers were brought in to do his work." – Vol. __I__ Corneria_

_"The Battle of Sector Z was the last of the hostilities of the Lylat War. Andross had the Star Fox team hunted down with an almost obsessive compulsion. It resulted in the capture of at least two team members, the near-destruction of the Great Fox, and the exile of Fox McCloud. The disappearance of the mercenary led directly to the system-wide Purge in which a full 2% of the Corneria's population was killed and the rest prepared for starvation, disease, and complete economic collapse." – Vol. 1 Corneria_

_"Tanistry is the preferred succession law for Apish royal families. It supported the minimally accepted ideals of democratic government while ensuring dynastic continuity. Where the Phoenix dynasty – like Fennec dynasties before them – used elective gavelkind to split titles among the family to prevent (or foment) political bickering, the Oikonnys immediately added a structure to the already complicated government: the Annual Tanistry Committee." – Vol. 1 Corneria_

"_The Cerinian Diaspora was sudden and transformed the face of the Lylat System. Facets of Cerinian culture that were reined in through sociological forces were now let loose." – Vol. IV Sauria_

"_The Kichi system of reincarnated teachers worked well on Cerinia to institute some continuity of political – and religious – philosophy. The Cerinians and their close cousins, the Saurians, tweaked this system. Every political crisis, from the dissolution of the Cerinian Buxduko, to the Diaspora, and the fall of the Jooteg Ruco Buxduko, served to advance and strengthen the Kichi system. The most prominent of these Hadfesxo being the Xikibki, who relocated his entire court to Sauria after the destruction of Cerinia." – Vol. 4 Sauria _

"_The fall of the Jootag Bxoduko produced through a combination of efforts from the Bonobist religion and Cerinian exilic community, opened the door for a number of powerful military and political forces to enter the great game that was Sauria. The largest being the Cornerian led Lylat People's Union, the newly formed Cerinian Bxuduko in Exile, and the newly unified Sharpclaw Nation. I'll discuss each in turn..." – Vol. 4 Sauria_

**Jootag Buxduko**: The Khanate formed by the Jootag tribe prior to the second wave of colonization of Sauria. The Jootag empire fell apart when a series of monarchs and monarch consorts were converted to Bonobism, and rebellions began breaking out among vassal and tributary states. The final nail in the coffin occurred when the last of the Jootag's supporters (the Cerinian Exiles that served as a priestly caste) abandoned them and formed a new state allied with the Bonobists.

**Jootag Tribe**: A direct reference to the Seediq Bale. An indigenous Taiwanese tribe that is awesomely (though perhaps not entirely accurately) in the Taiwanese film _Warriors of the Rainbow_.

**Kadw: **"kahd-w^uh," features in many Cerinian legends and myths. Is actually a place far in one of the dark corners of the galaxy. A direct trandlation of the Chinese "Ting," featuring prominently in Chinese archeology or more relevantly, in the _Classic of Changes, _the _Yijing. _Taken from the Wilhelm/Baynes translation_: _

_First over wood: _

_The image of the Cauldron._

_Thus the superior man consolidates his fate _

_By making his position correct._

_Six at the beginning means: _

_A ting with legs upturned_

_Furthers removal of stagnating stuff. _

_One takes a concubine for the sake of her son. _

_No blame. _

**Kcosxi: **"k-sho-shi," lit. "Tsechu" a Tibetan word meaning "Day Ten." Used in Bhutan to refer to the popular festivals that occur at least once in every Dzongkhag (province) and twice in some.

**Keranpang: **계란빵 (Romanized: Gye-Ran-ppang). Egg-bread, a sweet pastry usually served as a street food in Korea. A popular dessert among Cerinians.

**Kichi: **"key-chee," lit. "Tulku" a Tibetan word referring to the system of reincarnation and recognition that were all at once civil, educational, political, and religious authorities in Pre-1959 Tibet, and currently the Cerinian Bxuduko in Exile

**Kudkhu**: "kood-k-hoo," The Cerinian "Tantra." The distilled body of revealed knowledge dictated to Cerinian mystics by the Krazoa Gods.

**Rha**: "Ra," literally, "Sri," an honorific translated loosely as "Holy."

**Tanistry**: A classical Gaelic form of inheritance where dynasty members qualify to be elected as co-king/co-chief to inherit fully when their predecessor dies. The "Tanist," is only electable from the available pool of dynasty members.

**Thibfu Nation**: "T'ib-foo," Direct reference to "Drukpa," the Dzongkha word for "Bhutanese." Literally translated it means "Dragoner" and refers to both people from "Druk Yul" (Dragon Country) or those following the "Drukpa Kagyu" school of Buddhist thought. Here on Sauria they are directly descended of Cerinian migrants from well before the modern period of Cerinian Exile.

**Tua**: "Too-ah." lit, "Dai." Direct Reference to a minority ethnic group in the Chinese province of Yunnan.

**U****kuu**_: "__You-koo," __Direct reference to "araa," native Bhutanese drink of choice. Similar to Korean soju, a liquor made from grains or potatoes similar to vodka. In the author's personal opinion, Bhutanese araa is much more palatable and drinkable than most sojus. And yes, the traditional way to drink araa is with an egg mixed in. _

**Umtenu**: "Oom-ten-oo," lit. "Amdowa." Direct reference to the Amdo region of Tibet.

**Wudtod Khafu**: "Wood-tod Ka-foo," lit. "Ganden Tripa." In the Geluk school of Tibetan Buddhism, the Tripa is the actual doctrinal head of the system. In the Geluk school, there are three centers of power: The Panchen Lama (based out of Tashilhunpo Monastery in Shigatse) the Dalai Lama (traditionally based out of the Potala Palace in Lhasa, but now lives in Dharamsala, Himachal Pradesh, in northern India), and the Ganden Tripa (based out of Ganden Monastery in Lhasa). The former two heads (Panchen and Dalai) have acquired their positions and power based on tradition and history. Doctrinally, it is the Ganden Tripa who controls the theology (more or less) of the Geluk School.

**Xikibki**: "hhi-kib-kee," lit. "Hutuktu" the Mongol Tulku who ruled over Mongolia in a similar manner and structure as the Dalai Lamas ruled over Tibet. The Xikibki ruled over large parts of Cerinian society until the Exile when he ruled over all of it. Rha Zamo Tehzo, the point of view character of this chapter, is the incumbent and in his minority, leaving the Cerinian Bxuduko in Exile ruled by his mother, Rha Normo Bxodte.

_Xikibki I: _The First Xikibki, semi-legendary. The real individual was said to be the reincarnation of Wotid Thir, a gifted telepath and tribal leader of the Cerinian people. Wotid Thir himself is supposed to have been related spiritually and genetically to Nau, the Silver-furred founder of the Cerinian people.

_Xikibki XIII: _The "Great" Thirteenth. The historical figure united most of Cerinia under a meritocratic-theocratic government. He is credited with reforming the tax system, building over a hundred citadels, temples, and cities, and creating social systems like fire departments, hospitals, and caravanserais to facilitate trade. There is a large minority of Cerinians who prefer to cite the darker side of his reign, including wars and weighed theological debates against his adversaries.

_Xikibki XXII_: Rha Zamo Tehzo's grandfather, Rha Normo Bxodte's ("Krystal") father. The 22nd Xikibki was a great healer, and led the Cerinian people out of their homeworld running from the Skyward Swords, most relocating to ancient colonies on Sauria.

_Xikibki XXIII: _Rha Zamo Tehzo. The son of Rha Normo Bxodte and an unknown concubine.


	27. Fox VI

**Chapter 26: Fox VI**

They came up to their Arwings in a forest clearing. The blizzard covered the fighters in a layer of snow, which now made Fox feel stupid that they'd bothered to disguise them with branches and foliage. They grabbed shovels out of the equipment compartments and started to dig out the Arwings in silence.

It took a while to dig out the cockpits enough to open them, but when they were finally freed, Fox and Emerald started the diagnostics check and restarted the engines. Temperatures weren't doing them any favors. Cold was one thing. Moisture was another. They'd thaw and dry out just fine. It would just take some time.

Fox sat down on one of the wings and leaned back, staring up at the sky.

Emerald walked over and asked, "Can I sit with you?"

"Sure." Fox nodded.

Emerald climbed up onto the wing and sat next to him.

They sat in silence for a long time. Fox didn't seem to notice anything, but she was looking down and was tracing lines from the scars on the Arwing, "I don't blame you."

Fox looked over, "What?"

"I don't blame you for being this way."

"What way?" He felt a strange tug at his wrist. He wanted a drink.

"This way." She looked back at him, "I don't blame _her_, either."

"_Her? _You mean Krystal?" Fox asked.

"Of course. I don't think she seduced you. I don't think you chose the things that keep you spiraling down."

"I'm... I'm not spiraling down."

"Do you ever think you'll be happy?"

"Hold _on_." He held her shoulder and pulled her towards him. "I'm not spiraling down."

"Fox," she met his eye, "A week and a half ago I found you drunk in a rundown motel buying a door-to-door prostitute."

"It was _you_. _Pretending _to be a prostitute."

"And if I wasn't? If I was the real thing?"

He knew what answer she wanted, one he couldn't honestly tell her, "You know why I drink."

"Do I?" she turned away, "Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Do you know why you drink? Why you sleep with prostitutes? Why you were flying around in a deathtrap for years on end?"

"Maybe because my parents were murdered?"

She turned back to him.

"Maybe because my home was taken from me? Maybe because after the war that killed and took my friends prisoner, I was left alone, and hunted like an animal? Maybe because the person I loved..."

Emerald didn't say anything.

"Nothing."

"What about her?" Emerald said, "What?"

"Why do we have to talk about this again?"

"You know, all of those things you mentioned have happened to other people. They've happened to me."

"What are you talking about?"

"_My _parents are dead. _My _home no longer _exists_. After my war I was alone. I had no one but more warriors. I'm a fugitive, too. And noone loves me either, apparently."

"So what does that mean?"

Emerald didn't respond.

"Really. What are you trying to say? All that same shit happens to other people, but why am I so broken?"

"Basically, yeah."

It was his turn to be stunned into silence.

"My mother had a saying: the tea egg has to break for the inside to be delicious. It's ok to be broken. It's necessary to break at some point. But you are strong enough to pick up and move forward."

Fox wanted to get angry at her, but she was making too much sense, "My mother died when I was only a month old."

"It wasn't your fault."

"My father was murdered when I was sixteen."

"It wasn't your fault."

"My wife and I were married for eleven months."

"It wasn't your fault."

"My son was stillborn."

"It wasn't your fault."

"And the war? The one I had an active hand in? That led to the deaths of hundreds of thousands of people?"

"Not your fault, either."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"You've internalized all of these tragic, fatal endings. You're trying to construct a grand narrative proving that all you do is sow and reap suffering."

Fox didn't say anything. He grabbed a fistful of snow and tossed it off the wing, "You saw Fara and Falco."

"I did."

"You saw how they reacted with barely three minutes of my presence."

"So what?"

"So..." He couldn't think of words. Or he thought of them, and rejected their blunt truth. He stood and stomped off into the snow, _So I do sow and reap suffering. _

Emerald jumped off the wing and followed him, "Fox, do you think you're the only person to experience tragedy and think it was _somehow __you__r__ fault_?"

"What's your point?" He whirled around, snow flying in all directions.

"My point is you're actively trying to get yourself killed..."

"So _what?" _He felt like he was spitting venom, "It's my life to _fucking _throw away if I want. What good ever came to _anyone _because of me?"

Emerald froze. Her determination melted away and turned into horror.

Fox trudged through the snow and into the trees. He wasn't looking for anything, but running from problems had been the only thing that made sense. Ever since his life began, he was either defeated and driven off or... or...

He walked back to the Arwings.

Emerald seemed like the whole incident was trivial. That initial horror seemed to be shrugged off as if accidentally hitting someone in the street.

"Emerald," Fox started.

"We're ready to go," she said, and then mumbled, "We've been ready for a while."

"Emerald," he started again.

"I sent off a message to the _Great __Fox_. Katt knows we're heading back."

"Em..."

"_What?" _she demanded without looking at him.

"Can you come down here? I want to apologize."

There was a long moment where the only sound was the wind. Finally, Emerald stood up out of the cockpit and climbed down the side of the ship. She landed in the snow facing away from him and stood up, not turning around to look him in the eye.

"I'm sorry." She didn't move and there was another long period of the wind and trees raging and then dying into stillness. He said it again, "I'm sorry," and added, "for what I said." Emerald didn't move, but her ear twitched and the energy suddenly shifted, "I'm sorry for everything."

He looked down at his feet buried in the snow.

A blue hand suddenly held his. He looked up. Emerald was still facing away from him, but her arm had reached back and gently held his hand softly, like one might cradle a broken eggshell. Fox had never felt such tenderness before.

"Em..." he said, barely. She turned slightly so he could see just the side of her face and a single eye. And then she was upon him. She whirled into his arms and kissed him. He didn't flinch this time, or try to move or flee or even think. He accepted it, and realized he even liked whatever this was. Not the physical contact, but intimacy. He'd been truly open and honest with maybe three people in his life. And one of them had her arm around his neck and her lips on his.

She separated from him, her fingers digging into his scalp and around his ears, "Don't you leave me, Fox McCloud."

He kissed her. He wrapped his arms around her body. He felt the snow melt away. He felt the worlddisappear. For just a moment, he was back at the _Fooding and Lodging _on Eladard. But he wasn't himself. He was someone else. Someone worth being. Someone not burdened by death and failure. Someone who could provide strength, security, survival. Someone worthy of Emerald.

She turned around and faced the Arwing. His hands were still all over her, moving clothes and equipment aside like an inconvenience and began to kiss and touch, and nip parts of her that he'd stared at for so long.

Emerald was busy elsewhere. Fox heard the _clink _of metal as she undid her belt, felt the rush of blood and warmth as she tugged her pants down. He suddenly felt animalistic, primal, base energy rising inside of him as she rubbed him with one hand and worked his belt with the other.

Finally, he was released and Emerald seized his length, leaning over until her face was a breath from the ship's hull, and Fox was pressed against her temple. She guided him inside and sighed deeply.

Fox felt himself consumed by the beast inside of him. The one that he both revered and feared, the creature that made him what he was and what he hated. In the Temple he grew up in they called it "The Blood." And here he felt it. It was like a great wave rising inside of him. The wave itself was nothing special, but it kept rising, and rising. He felt his mind become unhinged from time. He lost all sense of self as his ego, his illusory continual consciousness fell away, decoupling from his flesh, which became more and more consumed by her flesh. He felt himself growl, a vibration coming from that inward beast, now consuming what his rational self had left behind.

"Fox, stop," he heard. But just barely.

He kept moving, kept tearing at her until their bones and muscles seemed to mix and blend and become one.

"Stop."

He held a hand on her hips, another on her neck. He knew how this ended. He knew, this time, this way, was real. It was true. It was present and here, and now, and what could be more...

"Fox! _Stop!" _She pushed him back as forcefully as she could. He stumbled, and almost fell backwards into the snow. He stood, a few feet back from her, half naked and wondering just what was happening. He felt the wave, _The Blood_, subside and he remembered who and where he was.

Emerald pulled up her pants and fastened her belt with some dignity left.

Fox still couldn't move very well. He slowly felt his dexterity returning with his sense of language and managed to speak, "What? What did I do?"

She pulled her clothes straight and reordered herself. Only when she was finished did she answer him. "My name," she said every word as its own self-contained statement, "is _Emerald_."

For a split second, Fox didn't understand. And then he did. Shame came over him like a blanket, and then Emerald came over to him and helped him get dressed.

He was about to apologize again, but she beat him to the punch, "It's all right." She bucked his belt.

"Em..."

"It wasn't your fault." And she kissed him lightly on the cheek. She held his hand and said, "You can understand..."

"Yeah... it's not exactly encouraging."

"I know we can do this. I know we can make it out of this alive. I just... I need you. I always needed you, Fox. Before, I just needed the thought of you to keep me going. To know that not every Cornerian hated me. Not every Vulpid wanted to kill me and my people. Some of them wanted to love me, to be me. And now I need you. A different you."

Fox heard her, but couldn't bring himself to believe she was truthful. Couldn't cross a bridge of doubt built by his experience in overanalyzing tragedy.

"Come on. Let's head back to the _Fox_." She smiled, "We can finish up there."

He didn't know how to feel. Was she idolizing him into an unrealistic hero, or did she see someone that was hiding deep inside of him. They split and went to their individual Arwings.

The G-Diffusers warmed up unbelievably fast (courtesy of a brand new fabric) and they started into the sky, pointing their noses star-ward. Blue didn't have a chance to turn to black when Em came on the comm link, "There's something heading our way. It's coming fast." Fox checked the navigation just as his fighter streamed out of a cloud and into open air. Sure enough, two other fighters were on their way towards them, on practically a collision course. He felt something strange tug at the back of his mind. He looked up as if he might be able to see them. Nothing. Just clouds.

He opened up another line of communications aimed at the newcomers. Seconds ticked by. A small timer pinged over and over while the screen remained black.

"Something wrong?" Emerald asked.

"I'm not sure."

And then the line opened with a beep and static. There was nothing said. No sounds or words, just the very tired and angry face of Falco Lombardi.

He set his wings to attack mode.

"What are you doing?"

"Em, you get out of here. I'll handle this."

Falco's comm screen went dark.

"I'm going to stay." Emerald said.

"No. I got this." Fox pulled the Arwing up until he had U-turned and was heading head-to-head with Falco's Skyclaw. There was only one ship off in the distance. Where was the second one?

"All right..." Emerald said.

Fox could see Falco's ship as a blip on the cloudscape in front of him. He didn't think about the forest, on the beach at Cape Claw, but rather some earlier fight, when they fought together instead of against one another. He said aloud, "How long has it been, Falco? Only one of us can make it out of this one..."

Emerald shouted over the comm.

"What is it?"

"There's another fighter above waiting for us to make a break for it."

"They're doing a hammer-anvil thing." Fox primed his weapons, "Follow me. We're going to have to do something else." He hit the boost and started aiming to crash into Falco. The Skyclaw only responded by increasing its own speed and positioning itself to slam into Fox's Arwing. Emerald fell in behind him, "Get ready!" The distance was closing. Fox charged his lasers and locked onto Falco, "Em. On my mark, fire your secondary weapon."

Emerald didn't flinch.

Falco opened fire with his cannons. Green lasers began to wash over them, coming close enough to the Arwing's canopy that the flash burned Fox's eyes.

He ordered, "Mark!" and dipped the Arwing low. Emerald fired a nova bomb that passed over Fox's head, and threatened to slam into Falco's fighter. The aviad pulled up.

Fox followed him, laser still charged, and fired a nova bomb of his own. Almost immediately, Falco U-turned and sent a hail of laser fire on Fox. His ship shook like a rattling cage as the shields absorbed damage.

"Evasive maneuvers!" Emerald turned downward and they both descended towards the Ice Mountains. Above them their bombs exploded into a spectacle of blue-white light and geometric patterns. The three ships shook like leaves in the wind from the combined strength of their weapons.

Falco hailed him on the link, "We did that on Fortuna. It may have worked on Pigma Dengar, but it won't work on me."

This was the challenge of this sort of game: he had to strategize and fly all at the same time.

The three ships burst out of the clouds and headed for the white and iron of the mountains.

"You have a plan?" Emerald asked.

Fox didn't answer.

"We can't keep flying this direction forever."

The mountains loomed closer. Fox checked the scanner: the Skyclaw was decently behind him, but gaining.

"It's me he wants." Fox said, "So we're going to get lost in those mountains."

No doubt the logic was lost on Emerald, but the soldier just responded, "Got it."

Fox hit the boost and pulled up, dipping in between and around mountains at speeds way too dangerous for this atmosphere and altitude. Falco followed them, undeterred, boosting this Skyclaw so the distance closed with every second.

He wondered if Falco would phone this in and call for reinforcements. No. That wasn't his style. But he might try and keep them on the planet and funnel them into a row of anti-aircraft guns.

The mountains became smaller and less labyrinthine. Complex aerial maneuvers gave way to flying over open plains and lakes south of the mountains, approaching the Great Inland Sea. In a few minutes they'd be over Walled City and Thibfu/Earthwalker territory. Farther south, they'd approach Cape Claw and Sharpclaw lands to the southeast.

Falco was practically breathing down their necks. He let off a shot every so often to test his range and accuracy.

Fox pulled up the navigation and drew up a dozen coordinates on the Saurian map. He sent it to Emerald who checked her route and came back, "Are you serious?"

"Yes," was all he said. Falco opened fire. Green lances shot through the air all around them. They passed over Walled City's sprawling expanse and the lances stopped. Emerald banked off to the southeast, at about a forty-five degree angle from Fox and Falco's trajectory.

Falco didn't budge, but kept on Fox's tail. Fox dodged, banking hard to the left, and saw Falco fire lasers dangerously close to him. Navigation indicated a canyon off to the south. It took a few seconds for Fox to realize which canyon it was. He boosted that direction and watched the nav, seeing Falco pull up and into the atmosphere almost dipping off his sensors for a moment.

The canyon came into view. Falco barreled down on Fox from a high angle. He went from being a rear profile of an engine and wings to an overhead map of an Arwing.

He heard Peppy's voice in his head...

He did a barrel roll, activating the Arwing's auxiliary shields, deflecting Falco's lasers harmlessly off into the desert. Fox turned to starboard and kept the Arwing's profile facing Falco, zooming through the twists and turns of the canyon by dipping and pulling. Bolts of laser fire lanced out like tentacles from a space-borne beast, but all missed Fox's ship.

Fox could practically _see _the Skyclaw just above him. Falco followed him almost into the canyon, but stayed just out of it, and fired his only nova bomb. The bomb landed just behind Fox, impacting the canyon's riverbed floor and exploding. The walls of the formation shook and shuddered. The explosion couldn't stretch in all directions like it wanted, and so was limited to up and the flow of the gorge. Half of the bomb's energy threatened to overtake and send Fox crashing into the red walls of rock. But he pulled up just in time, boosting himself out of the planet's depths and into open sky barely a mile from the coastline.

Naturally, Falco was right there waiting for him. Fox reset his flight path to rendezvous course with Emerald. Falco had lost some momentum with that attempt to flush him out, but he won't get another one. The Skyclaw was faster than the Arwing. Fox knew Falco's ship was superior. His flight skills were arguably so.

He needed to turn those into disadvantages.

The ocean appeared, almost endless in its immensity. And Fox his hit ship's boosters. The Arwing launched over the waves and zoomed through the air. He lifted it as if he was trying to make a run for space, and a charged, locked on star of laser blast launched in his direction. He ducked and barrel rolled. He set back to his straight-course and boosted. Falco followed, boosting as well. Fox could practically feel the nose of the Skyclaw against his wing. Falco charged his laser again. Fox didn't change course.

An alarm went off, informing him, "Target acquired."

He didn't move.

Falco came over the comm link, "I just wanted to say: yes, it _is _personal."

That was his cue: Fox steeled himself, and switched from maximum boost to maximum brake. Falco only noticed when it was too late. And just as the Skyclaw passed his Arwing, Fox had locked on and fired his last nova bomb.

He didn't stay to watch, but as he kept course over the ocean, he wasn't followed.

Emerald was finally in range of his comm, "Where'd Falco go?"

"Don't know. But I know where his Skyclaw went."

"What about this last guy?"

"Well, his ship can only shoot at one of us."

They pulled up, forming an obtuse triangle with Jan's ship in the stratosphere. Jan fired at Emerald, who he'd been following for the better part of an hour. He only saw the second Arwing when it was already blasting into his cockpit.


End file.
